


A Week in Wammy's House

by Senied



Category: Death Note & Related Fandoms, Death Note (Anime & Manga), Death Note: Another Note
Genre: Explicit Language, M/M, My First Work in This Fandom, Work In Progress
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-01
Updated: 2021-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-10 03:27:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 30
Words: 59,410
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27817516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senied/pseuds/Senied
Summary: December at Wammy's House. L is alone on the premises for a week. Well, not really alone, there is that one traumatized successor left in his care. Will L be able to face his inner demons and not lose his mind locked in with a young man going through a psychotic break?This story is an exploration of why and how Beyond Birthday went crazy, looking into his character before we meet him in Nisio Isin's light novel 'Death Note Another Note: The Los Angeles BB Murder Cases'.There is also a back-story to L's character, trying to explain why he is how he is.This is written with many flashbacks and memories of the two young men's lives, including, and not limited to A's fate, L's pre-Wammy childhood, Beyond Birthday's origins, etc.As of 20th January 2021, this has 14 chapters for the first day. If you take into consideration that there are seven days in a week and that there will be an epilogue after it's all done, this fan-fic will be pretty long.Enjoy the ride!
Relationships: A/Beyond Birthday, Beyond Birthday/L
Comments: 44
Kudos: 37





	1. Mens Sana In Corpore Sano

**Author's Note:**

> This is not only my first Death Note fan-fic, but also the first time I post anything here. 
> 
> I have a rough idea where I want this to go and have to throw a warning on it. This might start nice and slow, but there is going to be some disturbing stuff ahead. People might get triggered.
> 
> Here's the setting:
> 
> The year is 2000, which means the ages of the characters are as follows:  
> L = 21  
> B = 19  
> A = 16 at time of death 
> 
> I am going with the manga for L's age and decided on the ages for the other two in a way that makes sense to the story I want to write.
> 
> I am a little nervous to be honest, because I have never put any of my writings out there like this. So any support and/or input given will be hugely appreciated.
> 
> By the way, the title of the chapter is in latin and means, "a healthy mind in a healthy body".

December, this was L's favourite time at Wammy's House. Not only were there way more cookies, cupcakes and sweets around, but every year Roger would take all the Wammy Kids on a week long fieldtrip to London so they could go on a crazy christmas shopping spree with the generous allowance given to them by the altruistic Quillsh Wammy. A whole weekend of blissful silence in the usually busy hallways of the orphanage.  
Sitting crouched on his favourite armchair worn down by now four years of use that has left the most perfect imprint for his butt to fit -just right- for him to reach that most wonderful, comfortable position for the best use of his intellectual qualities, L wiggles his sockless toes gleefully as he licks off white cream from a chocolate cupcake that he is holding tentatively with index and thumb. Just as he is about to take a first, anxious bite from the delicious soft chocolate dream he is holding, there is a knock on the door to his private quarters.  
L, rolls his eyes and sighs annoyed at the interruption.  
"Yehesss?" He says deeply. He used to have quite the high pitched voice as a kid. With his tiny build and long hair, he was often mistaken for a girl back then. That is, until puberty punched him like a high speed train and he hit a serious growth spurt that left him in bed with fever for almost a week, after which it seemed like the world had shrunk around him. It took him a while to get used to it, he was a goofy, gangling teenager for a while. Thankfully Wammy suggested Capoeria classes with the new instructor from Brazil and he grew to appreciate the use of longer legs and arms. Still, he didn't like standing out, a whole head taller than all the other kids, and he has tried to hide his true height in a perpetual hunch that has been a thorn in Wammy's eyes since then.  
By the slow, careful way in which the door is opened, L knows right away who it is, long before the shape of Wammy makes his way into L's lounge.  
When L turned seventeen, the official coming-of-age of all Wammy's Kids, he graduated with the highest scores anyone has ever achieved at the prestigious school of Wammy's House orphanage. Instead of being sent off to one of the world's best universities like many other of his peers were, he was taken aside by Wammy himself and offered the chance of a lifetime, to get special training under his tutelage and become the world's most renowned detective, fighting for justice, and one day becoming heir to the Wammy estate. Included in the deal were the penthouse in the main building, above the dormitories, personal trainers and teachers and complete coverage of all his financial needs. L didn't hesitate.  
L squints up at Wammy’s face, holding the precious cupcake inches from his lips, he can feel the build-up of saliva in his mouth and he swallows hard, frowning slightly when he feels a growl and pinch of hunger in his stomach.  
“Sorry to interrupt L”, Wammy says quietly, glancing at the dangling pastry, then at the pyramid of Christmas cookies, muffins and cupcakes on the coffee-table in front of L’s armchair. L had moved his laptop, all the files and papers he was going through, looking for an interesting case to dig into, to the floor to make room for his daily sugar intake. L saw Wammy frown in disapprovement at the stack of newspapers that L had piled up around his lunch tray, consisting of a salad and fried fish, lying, untouched, inside its own little fort in the furthest corner from where L was sitting.  
Giving off a sigh of capitulation, L carefully puts the chocolate cupcake on the very top of the patisserie shrine, licks his fingers and pretends to not notice the chastising looks that Wammy is giving him.  
“Pouting doesn’t suit you L,” Wammy says as he walks towards the corner to save L’s lunch from the impeding doom of being crushed by toppling newspapers.  
L grunts and sinks deeper into the armchair.  
Wammy brings the tray to the coffee-table and carefully sets it down next to the pile of dessert, pushing the later a little to the side for room.  
“You can’t live on sugar alone, I’m afraid. You are too intelligent to ignore the fact that a balanced diet is imperative for a healthy mind to work. Mens sana in corpore sano, my dear boy.”  
L looks up at him, opening his eyes wide for effect, with his right thumb resting on his lower lip.  
Wammy raises an eyebrow and smiles at his protégé.  
“You know that look hasn’t worked on me for years and don’t think that I don’t know that you use it to persuade the cook to make that,” Wammy points at the pastries, “a much bigger pile than we one we agreed on.”  
L rolls his eyes and reaches for the fork on the tray. He pokes in the salad for a bit and decides on a cherry tomato, they tend to taste sweeter. As he is chewing the tomato L knows that Wammy knows why he picked that instead of a slice of cucumber or an olive and he knows that Wammy knows that he knows that he knows. L frowns, this is way too complicated a thought to have over some stupid salad, he decides and starts chewing another tomato as he gives the chocolate cupcake a longing look.  
Wammy clears his throat and says, “Anyway, the reason I came in is to tell you that all the students are packed up and ready to be taken to the train station,…”  
L looks up at Wammy, it’s unlike him to hesitate like that. He forces down the half chewed tomato and asks, “What is it?”  
“Well,… Roger can’t go with them. Last night he received a call, there has been a death in the family and he left early this morning for Scotland.”  
“Pass him my condolences, will you? Is that all?”  
“L, I have to go to London with the students.”  
“No, you don’t. There is Mr Willers and Mrs Garcia and the school nurse that are going, they should be enough to handle a bunch of children without you. You and I were going to go through all this,” L waves at the laptop and papers on the floor, “together, to find a case worthy of L’s attention. That is more important than babysitting a bunch of children.”  
“L, listen to me. There is more to Roger’s yearly trips to London than guarding our students on their school trip. There are meetings with lawyers, our tax consultant, the bank, sorting deliveries for the orphanage, all the things that make this place run smoothly. These are things that I cannot pass on to one of the teachers. Roger and I are the only ones with access to the finances. I have to go.”  
Wammy’s voice gets a stern tone to it when he adds, “I do not appreciate the deprecating inflection you put on the word ‘children’. These are some of the brightest young minds in the country,… no, the world, and one day one of them might very well be a successor worthy of your name. It wouldn’t hurt for you to at least make a small effort to get to know them.” Wammy clears his throat again, “Maybe if you had,…”  
L interrupts him, flashing him an angry look, “I am not to blame for some child’s weak state of mind. If you want to blame someone for what happened, maybe you should take a long hard look at how you run this place.”  
Wammy’s shoulders slag and he sways on his feet.  
L jumps up, dropping the fork that lands on the plate with a clatter, and puts his hands on Wammy’s arms, steadying him.  
“Oh god, Wammy,” L says with remorse gripping his heart, “I am so sorry! I didn’t mean it! Sometimes I am too proud for my own good.”  
“It’s alright, my boy,” Wammy whispers, “it’s alright.”  
L leads Wammy to the armchair, where the old man slumps in sorrow. L takes a sugar coated christmas cookie and offers it to Wammy.  
“Here,” he says, “sugar helps. Or do you want some water, should I get you some?”  
Wammy takes L’s hand, the one holding the cookie and pats it reassuringly.  
“It’s quite alright, my dear boy.”  
Seeing the look of hurt and worry in L’s eyes, Wammy takes the cookie and puts it in his mouth. Under L’s scrutinizing gaze, Wammy chews and swallows it. Some colour coming back to his cheeks, he smiles and says, “Sugar does help, thank you.”  
L gives him one of his ‘I told you so’ pokes and squats next to Wammy, leaning his head on his mentor’s leg.  
“I guess it will be alright,” L says, “I can go through all the files and have a case ready for us to tackle by the time you get back.”  
Wammy gently puts his hand on L’s head, stroking the soft black hair that covers such a bright mind. So smart and yet so stupid, Wammy thinks and smiles to himself.  
“With all the teachers and household staff on their christmas break it’ll be the first time that I am truly alone here. “ L says thoughtfully, “Should be interesting .”  
“Well, not quite alone,” Wammy says.  
He takes something from the inside pocket of his jacket and passes it to L, who sees that it is a brown envelope with one letter printed on it’s face:  



	2. A Dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Someone is having a nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Short chapter.   
> Bit of anxiety vibes, so you're warned.

There is no light.  
Just a pit of darkness so black, it is like sinking into ink.  
Voices.  
Whispering, whispering, whispering.  
He falls deeper, his body constricted by shawls of velvet black, tightening their grip around his arms and legs, around his throat, choking him as they pull him down.  
He is blind, but he can hear.  
Voices.  
Whispering, whispering, whispering.  
Suddenly broken by a gale of laughter.  
He turns his head, searching for it.  
There, a ray of light, just above him. That is where the laughter is coming from. It trickles down to him, like soothing raindrops on a feverish head.  
He pulls at the constricting shadows that embrace him tighter. He tries to reach out, towards the light.  
Voices.  
Whispering, whispering, whispering.   
The light is fading.  
He tries to scream.  
A wave of darkness gushes into his mouth, silencing a scream that never came.  
It is ice.  
So cold.  
It freezes him from the inside.  
The light has gone out.  
Voices.  
Whispering, whispering, whispering.  
Nothing but cold and dark.  
Cold and dark.  
So cold.  
He reaches out.  
If he could just touch something, anything.  
Please.  
Anything.  
Just stop this cold.  
Voices.  
They are louder now. He can understand what they were saying.  
You will die. You will die. You will die.  
You will die heeeeeeeeeeeeeere.  
If only he could scream, but the chill has killed any feeling he might have had in his mouth. His chest feels heavy.  
He can’t breathe.  
Please.  
Something brushes against his hand.  
It is warm.  
The voices are screaming.  
Screaming, screaming, screaming.  
You will die. You will die. You will die.  
You will die heeeeeeeeeeeeeere.  
He grunts with effort, trying to reach that warmth.  
There.  
A hand.  
A warm hand takes his and pulls.  
The darkness falls away.  
The voices let out one last scream of anger.  
He is out.  
So bright.  
So cold.  
The frozen feeling inside of him hasn’t left.  
Why am I so cold?  
Where am I?  
The hand in his goes limp.  
Loses its warmth.  
Red, red, red.  
Everywhere.  
No!  
Please take me back to the darkness.  
Anything, but this.  
No!  
Please.  
Red, red, red.  
A limp hand.  
Blood.  
So red.  
So cold.  
He screams.  
And screams.


	3. Percentages, Cookies and Acceptable Behaviour in Public Spaces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wammy and L finish their conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wasn't sure if the second chapter might put people off from reading more. There will (probably, maybe, because this is -as of now- a jumbled mess of ideas swirling in my head), more chapters like that to give some insight into B's seriously messed up mental state.  
> If you are still here, thank you SO SO much!  
> If you left Kudos, thank you SO SO much!  
> Seriously, I appreciate the support more than you know.

L cocks his head to the side and with his right thumb, starts rubbing his lower lip, looking at the offered envelope quizzically. Wammy patiently waits for L to make up his mind. He knows that L likes to take his time with things, likes to think things through, even something as trivial as taking an envelope.  
New information has been given to him, Wammy will not be here for a whole week, which means that L’s routine will have to be changed to the new circumstances. He already had the next days planned out meticulously. Food consumption, exercises, research, everything in its place and on time. A comfortable cocoon of safety, away from the hectic field-work that his undertakings as L the Detective will oftentimes propel him into. Wammy’s House was home, was routine, was warmth, was, well, Wammy. What is Wammy’s House without Wammy?  
He had accepted the fact that he would have to be alone and now this, there was someone else going to be staying here. More new information to mull over.  
Exhibit B.  
Great.  
L rolls his eyes, sighs and gingerly picks up the envelope with the index and thumb of his left hand, holds it up and up and stares at it, leaning back his head.  
“I have to go,” Wammy says, “We’ll miss the train if we don’t get going soon.”  
“Yes,” L mumbles, “But there is a 83% chance that the train will be delayed.”  
L gives Wammy a side-long glance.  
“But you should get going, we don’t want a repeat of last year.”  
Wammy closes his eyes and rubs the bridge of his nose. Last year’s field-trip had a chaotic start when the group missed the train by two minutes and the children got bored having to wait an hour and a half for the next one. Boredom and genius don’t mix well. There was an experiment in the restroom about the absorbency of hygienic paper towels that ended up clogging the toilets and flooding the whole floor. Two boys broke into the station supervisor’s office to see how long it would take to crack open the safe in there, while some of their peers kept time and a look-out. A group of the smaller children bombarded one of the ticket clerks with so many questions about train schedules and speed parameters that the queue behind them started to get impatient and rowdy. Someone had started to write a thesis on wind forces, train velocity and gravitational pull with permanent marker on the marble floor of the waiting area. It took all of Wammy’s and Roger’s contacts and a lot of financial reimbursement to not get them banned from the station for life and pay for these and a lot of other, minor infractions and acts of vandalism all done in the name of scientific curiosity and research of course. They started a new compulsory class in acceptable behavior and respect of public spaces that January. But Wammy didn’t put a lot of weight on that being enough to keep them in line should they miss the train again.  
“Alright,” Wammy says as he pulls himself up, off the armchair and straightens his back.  
L smiles a little, seeing his tutor back to being the solid and strong mentor that he knows him as.  
“You will find all the information you need in the envelope,” Wammy says, “B’s medication and therapy routines are listed in there, amongst his latest developments and general observations by Dr Pearce. You won’t have to do much, B can be trusted to keep up with his daily intake of medication, but it would be good if you checked in on him sometimes, maybe keep him company during lunch hours.”  
L lowers his arm, the one that had been holding the envelope up for inspection and gives Wammy a pouty glare.  
“Dr Pearce thinks that it would also do you good to socialize a little with someone else, especially someone who is now next in line to the position of L.”  
“You are so kind, Wammy,” L says, “always reminding me of my own mortality.”  
“Oh stop it L,” Wammy says, not unkindly, they have had this banter before, ”you know these are necessary steps to ensure a seamless transition in case of,…”  
“My untimely and tragic demise?” L asks with a smirk.  
Wammy smiles.  
“Which will be a long, long way off, my dear boy. Long after I am gone,” Wammy says and gives the dish with the fish a little nudge, “as long as you remember to eat something besides candy and pastries once in a while.”  
“Oh puhlease my dearest Watari is inmortal,” L says, using Wammy’s codename as L’s official assistant and secretary when out in the world, “and fish is just depressing.”  
Watari laughs and L grins.  
There is a quiet little knock at the door.  
Wammy takes a few strides to the door and opens it to reveal a fluff of white hair over a face wrapped up in a blue woolen scarf. There are melting snow flakes on the child’s winter coat.  
“Mimmmsh Grasssh seshh we mossh go”, the white fluff mumbles.  
Wammy pulls down the child’s scarf to chin level and says, “One more time, Near.”  
“Misses Garcia says we must go,” Near says, staring at L, who is still sitting on the floor. His unblinking eyes move to the pile of cookies and cakes on the coffee-table.  
Wammy gives L a pleading look, giving him an unspoken sign to try to be a little friendly and approachable.  
L nods at Wammy, alright, he thinks, let’s try this.  
“Want a cookie?” L asks and trying to give a reassuring smile at Near only manages a creepy wide grin that makes his pale face look like some kind of possessed toad.  
Wammy face-palms.  
Near surprises him though, by taking a few tentative steps into the room.  
“Is it ok if I take three?” He asks, giving L another unblinking stare.  
L nods, “Sure, go ahead.”  
Near pulls off one of his mittens and reaches for the cookies. Near gives L a questioning look and when he gets an encouraging nod from him, he takes three cookies. One with white sugar frosting, one with a thick layer of chocolate chips and one decorated with red sugar lumps.  
Near turns around and walks back to the door. He looks up at Wammy and says, “Misses Garcia says we must go.”  
Wammy watches Near as he walks down the corridor, to the stairs, holding the cookies carefully in his open palm, to not squish them.  
“Well,” Wammy says, “that wasn’t so bad.”  
L crawls up to his armchair, still holding the envelope between two fingers and gets settled back into his comfortable sitting position, toes wiggling.  
“Hmm,” L says, “Cute little bugger, isn’t he? But rude, didn’t even say thank you.”  
“He is one of our brightest, has skipped a few classes and should be graduating early if he keeps it up.” Wammy says as he sees the white fluff of hair disappearing down the stairs.  
“Hmm, hmm”, L mumbles and nods to himself, saving that information in one of his many mental archives.  
“Well, I’ll be going then. Keys are in their usual place in my office and food is stored and labelled for you in the kitchen, just like every year. I’ll try to check in and call or send you a message when I find the time,” Wammy says.  
“Yes, yes,” L says and waves a hand dismissively, “You better keep going before they send anyone else up here to come get you and I lose more of my treats.”  
Wammy leaves the room and starts to pull the door shut behind him, when he opens it up again to give L a last reprimanding look.  
“You’ll check up on him, won’t you?” He asks.  
“Yeahhhh, I know,” L replies exasperated.  
“Well?” Wammy prods.  
“Yes, yes I will!” L says, “Now shoo! There is after all a 17% chance that the train will be punctual.”  
“Alright,” Wammy says with a note of hesitation in his voice.  
“Goodbye Wammy,” L says, his mind already concentrating on something else.  
“Goodbye my dear boy,” Wammy says and closes the door.  
L picks up the cupcake he had started to eat before Wammy came in and goes back to licking off the whipped cream on its top. The envelope in his other hand momentarily forgotten as he starts eating the cupcake carefully, trying not to drop a single crumb. After the pastry has been thoroughly consummated, he licks his fingers and considers whether he should eat another one, or try to nibble at the fish. Having reached a conclusion regarding said dilemma, he reaches for the plate with the fish, when he realizes that he is still holding the envelope in his other, non-sticky hand.  
His stomach growls.  
He sets the envelope on the floor, next to the armchair. He really has to eat first, he can’t concentrate on anything on an empty stomach.  
L picks up the fork, pokes at the fish, pokes at the salad and decides to sink the fork into a soft sponge cake instead.  
His toes wiggle gleefully.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Are the two boys that broke into the train supervisor's back office a certain pair of blond and red-headed Ms? Yes, yes they are.
> 
> Also, the cookies picked by Near are going to be shared with said pair, in case the colour-code of the cookies wasn't a dead give-away.
> 
> Near is 9 years old here, but you know, small for his age.  
> Just fyi, Mellow is 11 and Matt 10.  
> I don't know if they will show up in future chapters. We'll see what happens.


	4. B

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B wakes up and deals with some memories.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> B swears quite a bit, so a little language warning for those who aren't huge fans of that sort of thing.  
> There is a short NSFW moment in this and again, can be triggering for people with anxiety and/or dealing with grief.

B wakes up with a scream, sitting up suddenly. He takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. His hands are grabbing the sheets tight as he tries to come back to reality.  
Breathe in.  
Hold breath.  
Breathe out.  
Just like the therapist said.  
Breathe in.  
Hold breath.  
Breathe out.  
After a few more deep breaths, he can unclench his fists and open his eyes. The day’s light is filtered through the drawn curtains, giving the room a foggy atmosphere. It helps to find an object to concentrate on, to get a grip on the present and the place, and to shake the last stringy hold of his night-terror. For B it is the wardrobe on the opposite wall. Dark wood, three doors, the middle one smaller with three drawers below. This middle door used to have a mirror that is now broken into a glass spider-web. Roger keeps trying to get it changed and B keeps insisting on no one entering his room, and Wammy just shrugs every time this is brought up and so B gets to keep his privacy and his broken mirror. He stares at it through the glittering dust particles dancing in the few sunlight beams that snuck through a gap in the curtains and he sees his face reflected in all the tiny pieces of glass, splintered, broken, just like me, he thinks and grins. He rubs his face with his hands as the grin feels like it might lose a sob.  
“Fuck, fuck fuck,” B mumbles into his hands, “don’t you fucking cry now.”  
He kicks off the sheets and stands up, stretching his naked, sweaty body. He can’t sleep with anything on, the nightmares make him sweat and it gets so uncomfortable. He looks down at his sheets and wonders if he should even bother changing them again.  
Every kid in Wammy is responsible for the maintenance of their private quarters, including regular bed-sheet changes. Every room has a specific set of sheets assigned to it and B can’t remember if he even has any clean ones right now.  
“Fuck it!” He whispers.  
He steps to the curtains and pulls them open, to check the sun’s place in the sky. B can’t stand clocks and watches and there are none in his room. On cloudy days he just guesses, but today the sky is a light blue, grey snow clouds on the horizon, a bright, cold winter day. Snow covers Wammy’s estate. It must have fallen this morning then and moved on. According to the sun, it must be past noon, which means two things; one, those new meds gave him one hell of a kick and he overslept, and two, Wammy’s pack has left the premises.  
B makes a sudden turn to face the room and throws himself down, catching his fall with his hands, short of hitting the floor, and counts under his breath as he does push-ups. Part of a self-imposed exercise schedule that helps him wake his mind and body for the day ahead. His nightmare sweat had started to cool off and he works himself into more with his work-out. After fifty push-ups, he jumps up and shakes his arms and legs and stretches. He would usually do some other exercises, but he slept too much and decides to skip it today.  
He might have to talk to Dr. Pearce about that. These new meds are supposed to help him sleep and keep the worst of the night-terrors at bay, but they obviously aren’t helping as they should.  
B walks towards the bathroom door and hesitates before opening it, he always does.  
The rooms in the main building of Wammy’s House were the living quarters of the students. They consisted of suites, each with four spacious bedrooms that share a living space in the middle that consists of an entertainment-centre, a kitchenette and lots of filled bookshelves on the walls. Two bedrooms on each side sharing a bathroom between them.  
When B was three years old, he was moved from the nursery building, to the Main House, into a suite that was still empty. Children in Wammy’s start school at that age and they have an older child looking after them until they are independent enough to be able to handle their new situation alone. B doesn’t remember who was assigned to him, but he does remember when a new kid was put into the room adjacent to his. He was seven at the time and the new kid two years younger. A child that didn’t come from the Wammy Nursery, but had lost both parents in a tragic accident and was brought to the orphanage at the age of five.  
B was told, after A’s death, that he could move to a different room on the other side of the suite, if he wanted to, if it would make things easier. B refused, he wanted to stay where he was and at least be close to the memories of A, no matter how painful.  
But there is the damn bathroom door.  
Every fucking time.  
He reaches out and touches the door handle with just the finger tips.  
Breathe in.  
Hold breath.  
Breathe out.  
He grabs the door handle and pulls it down.  
Breathe in.  
Hold breath.  
Breath out.  
He slowly pushes the door open and reaches into the room, with this left hand, to switch the light on.  
Just white tiles, a fluffy grey carpet.  
No blood.  
“You fucking baby”, B scolds himself and steps into the bathroom.  
He will not look at the opposite door, the one leading to A’s room.  
He will not look at the damn door.  
Don’t look at the fucking door!  
He looks, of course.  
He always does.  
It’s closed and there is just silence behind it.  
B never feels as alone as when he looks at that closed door.

*** *** ***

“Beee!” A screams.  
“Beeeeeee!”  
B rushes through the bathroom, pushes open the door to A’s room and shouts, “WHAT?! Oh my god A, I swear if you just called me in here to show me ANOTHER stupid kitten video, I swear to hell and back that I will take your fucking laptop and use it as a fucking frisbee!”  
A just looks at him and points out the window. Snowflakes are drifting gently by it, fluffy ones, like feathers.  
“Snow?” B asks.  
A nods.  
“Ok, let’s go!” B says as he storms back to his room to grab boots and coat.  
He leaves both connecting doors open and can hear A laughing. B looks back to see A twirling in the doorway, singing, “Frosty the snowmaaan, was a jolly happy soul, with a corncob pipe and a button nose and two eyes made out of cohoaaallll!”  
A fades, a twirling, singing, laughing shadow on a closed door.

*** *** *** 

B stands there, naked, sweaty, with an urge to pee, not sure if he will let go of a sob, or of a scream of anger as he stares at the door, willing for the memory of A’s happy face and sparkling green eyes to come back to him.  
But biology has a way of kicking you awake even in your darkest moments and the urge to pee turns into a painful twinge that he can no longer ignore.  
Instead of stepping towards the toilet, that is located closer to A’s door, B turns toward the white plexiglass shower panel, opens it and steps inside. He turns the faucet on and is hit with a sudden and cold rush of water.  
“Son of a bitch!” B yells and he fumbles with the controls to get a warmer shower going. Once the water no longer feels like someone decided to drop a whole damn glacier on him, he relaxes and his bladder empties.  
Sighing in relief, B raises his head and lets the water run over his face.  
He remembers that day. God, they were so young then.  
It was almost new year’s and there had been no snow all winter. A loved snow, the whole spiel, snow-ball fights, making snow-men and snow-angels, and had been disappointed when Christmas came and went without a single snow-flake. B had to promise to drop everything and go outside if it should ever snow that winter.  
Finally, it did and A had been so happy, singing that stupid Frosty the Snowman song all day. They had built a small snow-man-family and had ended up starting a snowball fight that drew even the most stubborn winter grouches outside and it went down in Wammy history as the Snowball War of 1990. Everyone got drenched and cold and there was hot chocolate and cookies waiting for them by the fire place of the main room when Wammy and Roger finally decided to put an end to it.  
B had never seen A so happy, sitting on the floor, close to the fire, sharing a blanket and cookies. A’s green eyes flashing in glee with the reflection of the fire’s light.  
Remembering those eyes, B moved his right hand to his growing erection. His left hand steadying him against the shower wall, as he strokes himself faster and harder.  
“A,” B whispers, “Oh A,…”  
B closes his eyes, remembers…  
A laughing,  
A dancing,  
A singing,…  
and he cums with a deep groan.  
B’s shoulders and legs start to shake and he can’t hold himself up anymore. He falls on his knees, water hitting him on the back as he folds into himself, like the fetus he used to be. The drops hitting his body resounding within him like echoes falling into an empty vessel. B rocks himself back and forth.  
He cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was, for me, the hardest chapter so far. I'm exhausted!


	5. L

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Memories and thoughts of L.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took me some drafts to get this chapter feeling organic, I hope it works. 
> 
> With xmas just around the corner and family stuff happening (just the ones in the same household), I am not sure when I'll be able to update this. But I will try to get another chapter in before the new year.
> 
> Please, everyone, stay safe and healthy. This nightmare of a year is almost over.
> 
> Thank you for all the kudos, you peeps are the best! <3

What a wonderful feeling it is to satiate one’s hunger. L sighs in contentment and stretches his arms above his head. He then relaxes his whole body and flops himself back against the armchair. He licks his fingers with the tip of his tongue, one after the other, taking his time to make sure he doesn’t leave the slightest trace of sugary taste on them. Once he is happy with the result, he sets his feet on the floor and lifts himself off the armchair.  
“First, wash hands,” he mumbles to himself, “and thennnnn,… clean up, I guess.”  
L looks down at the coffee-table. He did take a bite or two of the fried fish, but didn’t touch the salad again and instead filled himself with Christmas cookies and lemon sponge cake and a few strawberries. He supposes he will have to take the dishes down to the kitchen and clean it all up, now that Wammy wasn’t here to take care of it.  
L smiles to himself a little. This sure brings back memories from when he was a student here and had to do his chores, just like everyone else. This taking care of himself for a week might actually be fun, he thinks as he steps around the coffee-table and walks towards the bathroom to the left of the parlour.  
The penthouse given to L as a home and work-space in Wammy’s House, consisted of a spacious parlour from which all other rooms were accessible. Bedroom and library on one side, his office plus bathroom on the other. What L liked best about it was the terrace. The fourth wall of the parlour, facing the door to the penthouse, was all glass with a door leading to a wide terrace. L loved the view of the countryside from up there. It made him feel like he was alone in the world. Almost like he could just take off and fly above it all. Leave behind the monsters he had to face every day, the horrible things people did to themselves and each other. From up there he could hear the school bell calling the kids to class. Orphans, some like him, abandoned early in life, with no family or home to go to. Quillsh Wammy gave them a place to belong. This was just one of the many orphanages that Wammy had built around the world, but this one, built on the English countryside and the Wammy ancestral home, was where he brought those children who had a special gift. Here, L had been raised and nurtured and here he had grown to become the world’s best detective.

*** *** ***  
He was eight years old when he came to Wammy’s House. He remembers how Wammy had introduced himself when he picked him up from Heathrow Airport. Wammy had just smiled at him, taken his little suitcase and had guided him to the car. It had been December then too and cold. L shivered when a gust of wind shook his small body and Wammy had gotten down on one knee, to be at eye-level with him and had taken his own, white scarf to tuck in L’s freezing face and keep him warm. When Wammy noticed that the little boy was eyeing him suspiciously, he had given L time to really look at him and L saw a friendly, smiling face with gentle eyes. That was the first time that L had dared to hope that things might not be so bad after all.  
Getting into the limousine was intimidating. L had never been in such a posh car before. He remembers the smell of leather and the whiff of after-shave that he got from Wammy when he leaned over L to click the safety-belt in place. L stared with big round eyes out the car window. He had had a long, tiresome and scary trip behind him. First time taking a flight by himself. There had been so many impressions to digest and so much to see. It is no wonder that he ended up falling asleep in the car, exhausted.  
He awoke when Wammy shook him gently by the shoulder. First thing L noticed was that it had gotten dark and that it was snowing in thick snowflakes. Wammy helped him out of the car. Together they stood in front of an iron gate, behind which L could see a gothic stone building, looming higher than the barren trees around it. It was eerily quiet and L felt fear clutching at his heart.  
Suddenly there was a loud gong. L almost jumped out of his skin as the sound reverberated through his body and he instinctively took Wammy’s hand. Wammy squeezed it reassuringly as another gong echoed in the night.  
“It’s alright my dear boy,” Wammy said, “That is just the school bell ringing. A small welcome to your new home.”

*** *** ***

“Home,” L says to himself as he stands, slightly hunched, looking down at his feet.  
What a small, simple word. It encompasses so many things to so many people. Usually images of warmth, love and safety, but to a young L, home was anything but. It was here, in Wammy’s House, that he had learned the true meaning of home. To L, home was the smell of leather and after-shave and the sound of the school bells echoing in the fields.  
Not good to linger too much in memories, he thinks as he steps into the bathroom, those will only bring back ghosts. He hesitates before stepping into the tiled room, his fingers brushing the light switch, but not pressing it down. Best to leave the light off. He just has to wash his hands and face real quick and wants to avoid catching a glimpse of himself in the mirror above the sink.  
As he steps in, the ghosts jump at him.

*** *** ***

“Don’t look at me with those dead eyes of yours! I said, don’t look at meeeee!”

*** *** ***

L turns on the faucet, grabs the soap and washes his hands thoroughly.

*** *** ***

“I should have known you were going to be a freak of nature!”

*** *** ***

L leans over the sink and washes his face with cold water.

*** *** ***

“Be quiet or I’ll fucking kill you!”

*** *** ***

L turns off the faucet and dries his hands and face with a towel.

*** *** ***

“I should have aborted you, you little piece of shit!”

*** *** ***

L steps back into the parlour and turns to close the bathroom door behind him. There is movement in the mirror above the sink and he glances at it.  
He locks eyes with the monster.  
L pulls the door shut.  
He takes a few steps towards the coffee-table. Hands in his pockets, shoulders a little hunched, he stops, closes his eyes and pushes those memories back to the darkest corner of his mind. He should have known this was going to happen. He shouldn’t have let those thoughts linger.  
Over the years, with therapy and Wammy’s help, he has learned to control his emotions and keep down not only the horrors of his pre-Wammy childhood, but also the nightmare visions that are part of his job. He can’t afford himself the luxury to indulge in trauma and, god forbid, self-pity. Too many people are counting on him.  
He goes towards the terrace, noticing that it has stopped snowing. The clouds have moved towards the horizon and the winter sun’s rays are grazing the spotless white blanket that covers the entire landscape, making it glitter, as if it were made of tiny diamonds. He’s always loved the snow.  
L leans his head against the glass door and can feel the cold on his forehead. He sighs, his breath fogging the glass a little. He loves this place and he wishes that his work wouldn’t take him so far from it so many times. But it can’t be helped. He has a feeling he will die far away from it one day. He just hopes it won’t be for many, many years.  
He rests there for a few minutes, hands in his pockets, forehead against the glass, eyes closed and breathing steadily, making sure the memories are really locked away and not ready to pounce him again.  
Once he is sure that he has total control over his mind again, L turns back to the room and steps towards the left-overs on the coffee-table. He bends down to take his lunch-tray and that is when he sees the brown envelope, leaning against the side of the armchair.  
Crap.  
His hand hesitates by the tray and L wiggles his fingers unconsciously. Making up his mind, his hand moves over and using only his index finger and thumb, he picks up the envelope off the floor. He stares at the letter B printed on its front. L frowns at it. There is no avoiding it. He will have to read its contents. Preferably over a nice, hot cup of tea. Yes, that sounds perfect. He will get this stuff downstairs and make himself some tea.  
L tucks the envelope under an arm, leans over again, this time picking up the tray and the pastry plate and makes his way to the front door of his flat. Balancing on his left leg, he lifts his right leg up and uses his foot to pull down the door handle, since his hands aren’t free to do so at the moment.  
It is only when he is half-way to the dumbwaiter in the hallway that he realizes that he keeps hearing a clatter. Looking down, he sees that his hands are shaking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I didn't want to post this at the beginning, to avoid spoilers. 
> 
> I wasn't sure how old L was when Wammy took him in and had to check online. I was surprised that he was already eight. If that is not correct and someone has different information, please let me know.
> 
> L and B in next chapter! Oh boy!


	6. Wammy's House

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L makes his way to the kitchen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tadaaaa!  
> I was able to finish another chapter after all! It's been a quiet sunday so I had the opportunity to get this one done.  
> I love to tell little tidbits about the house and the people there. To me, it just makes the story more interesting and dunno,... real I guess. I'm sure some of you are going like, "Chapter 6 and no action yet? What the eff?" Be patient my avid readers, we will get there.  
> Happy Holidays everyone!

L puts the lunch-tray and the pastry plate in the dumbwaiter, closes the door and presses the button for down. The dumbwaiter used to be run with a complicated wheel and rope system from the 19th century. Wammy had it modernized when he refurnished his ancestral home to become an orphanage. The building was about 300 years old, the school was even older. It used to be a church ages ago and has stood there, in all its gothic glory, since the late Middle Ages. The church building had, of course, gone through many changes since then, not to mention going into decline after being burned down in 1905 in a lightning induced fire and the bombing during World War 2, that had thankfully not done as much damage as it could have and had left most of the grounds unharmed. Wammy had put a lot of money into it, trying to maintain as much of the original design as possible, including the restauration of the stained glass windows, depicting the twelve apostles, also fitting the entire building with floor heating, classrooms, and modern restrooms. L remembers taking his exams on paper lighted by sunlight that broke into colourful shapes on his desk, as it got filtered through the stained glass of the windows.  
Wammy had also added new buildings on the estate, the nursery was connected to the Main House via the attached greenhouse, there was also a gym behind the house, where the kids suffered through rigorous physical training, an indoor swimming pool, and the garage, with a variety of vehicles, from bicycles to tractors.  
Some years ago, a group of kids decided to try their hand at agriculture. They had given new life to the old apple orchard, had been able to cultivate a pretty sizeable piece of land and had grown carrots, potatoes, pumpkins and had even set up their own little herbal garden. The potatoes were misused by a bunch of Wammy’s kids for all kind of tests. L will never forget the stench of distilled potato that wafted all the way from the kitchen to the fourth floor. He thought Roger was going to pop a brain vessel from the stress it caused him when he tried to explain to the miscreants that no, vodka was not a beverage adequate for a school and that it didn’t matter how often a certain blond kept insisting that his Russian blood craved real sustenance for his mental capacities to be at their top performance. It took all of three seconds for L to see that this was only a distraction. One walk to the herbal garden later and a close look at what they were growing there, verified L’s suspicions. He kept his discovery to himself, but he had a pretty good idea that Wammy knew, after he caught him winking at a red-headed kid who tried to quietly sneak away during Roger’s scolding rant. All in all though, it turned out for the best. The cook did magical things with the apples and L looked forward to her pies every autumn.  
L turns away from the humming sound of the dumbwaiter, as it takes the dishes four floors down to the kitchen. He would usually take the hidden servant stairs to go down, but with everyone gone and the place quiet, he likes to walk down using the main staircase. It has a nice soft carpet that runs all the way to the ground floor and him preferring to be barefooted, it is a guilty pleasure of his to feel the warm, dark green carpet beneath his soles.  
Hands is his pockets and head down, he starts his slow way downstairs. The stairs creak with every step he takes. It is so quiet, every now and then there is a noise of the old building settling. A wooden moan, especially during the cold winter months, that would normally go unnoticed during a busy day with kids thumping up and down the stairs on their way to or from class or to any of the many activities available to them.  
Wammy’s housed about 200 children at the moment. The teachers and other staff lived in Winchester city. Only Quillsh Wammy and Roger Ruvie had private quarters on the estate, in a little cabin, somewhat apart from the main building, that used to be where the family’s butler lived. They also had their offices there. Even though all the rooms were accessible to the students, nobody actually locked their door in Wammy’s, there was an unspoken rule regarding the value of everyone’s privacy, no one ever went to the cabin occupied by the two old men. It was a sign of respect that one would only go if requested to do so.  
When L reaches the third floor, he stops and looks down the length of the corridor. Every door has a cork-board on the wall, next to it, with a section for every occupant of the suite. There are messages, doodles and now, self-made Christmas cards and a few decorations on all of them, except one. Just a note, with BB attached to it with a pin. No reminders by any friends, or notes, or drawings. L stores this information for later and keeps making his way down.  
Enjoying the silence and the quiet creaking of his steps, L reaches the ground floor. He can see to his right, that the fire place in the common room is cold, but when his feet leave the stair’s carpet, he feels the warmth from the floor heating on his skin. L wiggles his toes, he will never take that for granted. In his opinion, central heating is one of the most amazing inventions of humanity. He remembers a time of long, cold winters, wearing up to three pairs of socks at a time, all of them too big and filled with holes and covering under musty blankets.  
“No,” he says and shakes his head, making his long, fuzzy hair sway in his face, “don’t go there.”  
The hands in his pockets are fisted tightly and he sinks his nails into his skin, to keep himself grounded in reality. He gives himself another minute to calm down and unclench his hands and then he turns left, passing the sturdy mahogany doors that are the main entrance to Wammy’s House, he avoids having to go through the huge former ballroom, now dining room big enough to host 200 students, and takes a small servant door, under the stairs, instead. This leads him through a long pantry, full of so many interesting smells and textures. L passes baskets of apples, potatoes, pumpkins, wooden cases holding bags of flour, sugar and salt, a tall spice-rack, meticulously labelled by the cook, shelves of honey, jams of all variety, eggs, and oooh, Tupperware with Christmas cookies. L can’t resist. He lifts the top of one, his nostrils widen to take in the smell of cinnamon and lemon wafting to him, and he reaches in to take a three layered cookie of strawberry jam and powdered sugar. He pushes the lid back on the container and happily munches at his stolen treasure as he reaches the door leading to the cook’s kingdom.  
The kitchen had all the modern appliances any cook could wish for, and was still able to retain its charming vintage vibe, with its white wooden cabinets and Mediterranean tiles. The kitchen island was huge and the kids called it kitchen continent. There were a few barstools neatly lined up next to it, for the students who liked to help the cook with the cutting and preparing of lunches, or just liked to sit and watch.  
Wammy’s cook, Madame Duvernay, had been hired by Roger some thirty years ago and was the undisputable Queen of Wammy’s House. Originally from New Orleans, she spoke English with a creole accent, but most students talked to her in her native French, one of the many languages available to them at the school, often causing giggles from both sides, when the continental differences in vocabulary and pronunciation resulted in hilarious misunderstandings. There wasn’t a child in the orphanage who hadn’t found comfort after a cut or a bruise in Madame Duvernay’s arms. Her ample bossom had been pillow to many a crying head and she always managed to cheer up the little ones with treats. Wammy had given up years ago and just turned a blind eye if desert was sometimes served before supper.  
She was a true gem and the children loved her, but kitchen helpers lived in constant terror of her. She was a strict Chef and wouldn’t accept the smallest mistake. They had gone through many of them who couldn’t stand the pressure and had quit in tears. That is, until Roger hired Tanaka San, a tiny Japanese widow whose small Asian restaurant in town had to close after her husband died. She couldn’t run the place on her own anymore and was facing deportation without proof of employment for her UK residence permit. She was the first one who wouldn’t take any crap from the cook and the yells of English, French and Japanese that would resound from the kitchen had taught the students words that their language teachers would never, in a hundred years, have even admitted to knowing.  
L chuckled to himself, remembering the day that Wammy had had enough and had threatened to kick them both out if they couldn’t get their shit together. It was the first and last time that L had ever heard his mentor use a profanity.  
But it worked, the yelling from the kitchen stopped and the two ladies had developed a mutual respect for each other and even found that they had more in common than they thought, being both widows and foreigners and part of a minority in Winchester. They were even known to laugh together at times. Of course, both of them would vehemently deny having any feeling of friendship towards the other, but the kids knew better.  
L sets down the brown envelope on the kitchen island. He goes to the dumbwaiter, opens its door and takes out the tray and plate and sets them next to the wide sink. He knows that he won’t be eating the left-overs and he throws them in the trash bin. He washes the plate and utensils carefully and leaves them on the strainer to dry. With a washcloth, he wipes down the sink. The cook hates water stains and he wants to maintain her level of cleanliness, even if she has gone to the States, to spend the holidays with her family. The plate with the pastries, he leaves out, he might have a few more of those treats with the tea he plans to make.  
L opens a low cupboard and takes out an electrical water boiler that he then fills with water from the tap and then plugs into an outlet on the kitchen island. From another cupboard he takes a tall ceramic cup and sets it next to the water boiler. He goes to the old sideboard that contains all the different types of tea, to select one, when he hears a metallic, snapping sound.  
L stands still, his head slightly to the side, wondering what that was.  
Another snap.  
L slowly turns his head to the right and searches with his unblinking eyes the dark corner by a small table, where the kitchen staff usually take their meals.  
A snap and a small flash of light.  
L finds the cause of the noise, a Zippo lighter being opened and closed. With another snap, the lighter flashes and L sees its red reflection in a pair of piercing eyes.  
“B,” L says.  
Another snap, another flash.  
Be approachable, be nice, L reminds himself, even though it worries him that he didn’t notice B’s presence until now. There is something almost animal in the way that B seems to be watching him silently, like a cat stalking its prey.  
It’s all those damn memories flooding his brain lately. It’s the snow and the time of year, it always gets him nostalgic and careless.  
L turns his whole body, to face the dark corner in an instinctual move to not display a weak side. He gives himself a mental kick for reacting this way. This is Wammy’s, this is home, he is safe here. He won’t show surprise or the smallest hint of fear to this,… child, who is trying to be all edgy to get some sort of reaction from him.  
Well, L won’t give him the satisfaction.  
“Want some tea?” He asks, putting on his best wide toadish smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> L finally ran into B! Yay! 
> 
> Next chapter will be interesting... Promise!


	7. Tea for One

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L and B have a conversation in the kitchen.  
> This is, of course, a huge understatement of what is really going on here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy -input your choice of holiday, or lack thereof- !
> 
> Was able to write another two chapters. Didn't think I'd have the time, to be honest, but here we are.  
> I still have to tweak and fix details on the next one, so not sure when I'll post it.
> 
> Two things:  
> 1\. I took many liberties with Beyond Birthday's looks, since we don't really know what he looked like pre-L-costume era.  
> 2\. 'ad nauseam' is latin and means that something goes on to the point that it makes you, well,... nauseous.
> 
> Enjoy!

A shape emerges from the corner like some kind of dark thing from a child’s nightmare. Like a lover unwilling to lose the warm body of its latest conquest, the shadows hug to it as it steps forward. A flash as of misty wings looms along the wall. The apparitions long, black hair framing a dark face with fangs, smiling with the promise to drag your very soul into the deepest corners of Tartarus. Oh god, the eyes,… red eyes, crying tears of blood.  
L blinks.  
There is no eldritch monster crawling towards L, it’s just B, his successor, with his straight, long hair that reaches all the way over his broad shoulders to his slender waist. That is what must have made it look like the shadows were clinging to him. B is wearing black from head to toe, it is no wonder that he faded into the shadowy corner and L didn’t notice him earlier. As the young man steps closer, L can see that the eyes are just a normal deep brown, no blood.  
L scolds himself mentally. He seriously has to shake off the awful childhood memories, it is starting to affect his grasp on reality. He is being ridiculous.  
B stops just two steps away from the detective and stares down at him. If L were to stand straight, they’d probably be about the same height.  
“I can’t stand that shit,” B says, snapping his Zippo again.  
It takes a moment for L to understand what that means.  
Right, tea, he reminds himself, but he hesitates to swing back towards the sideboard. Every instinct in him is telling him to not turn his back on the young man in front of him.  
What the hell is this? L wonders. He can’t remember ever getting such a feeling of threat emanating from his successor before. He tried to be present during both A’s and B’s major exams, having designed some himself, and this is the first time that he gets these vibes from him. Last time he saw B, about a year ago, he had seemed almost shrunken, a ghost of his former self. But that had been during his room-mate's wake and understandable, considering the circumstances. B had always seemed so composed, aloof maybe, but content with his position in Wammy’s House and never hostile. L wishes he would have read the envelope’s contents, maybe something in there could explain this new, more belligerent persona.  
B gives him a sardonic smile.  
The bastard knows exactly what I am thinking, L realizes.  
An awkward silence settles on the room, only broken by another snap from the lighter.  
Suddenly, the electric water kettle on the kitchen island starts gurgling as the water starts to boil. A string of steam emanates from the boiler, setting off a whistling sound. B closes his Zippo with a last snap and looks away from the detective to unplug the kettle, breaking the tension between them. Hiding a sigh of relief, L turns to the sideboard and opens a drawer, grabbing the first tea-bag he can find, Darjeeling, he notes, not his favourite, but he wasn’t about to start rummaging for something else in there, not with those eyes behind him watching his every move.  
He turns around, tea-bag in hand, and sees that his kitchen companion had pulled up a bar-stool and was sitting to his left, but instead of keeping an eye on L, as he had anticipated, B was looking at the Zippo in his hand, running his thumb over it lovingly. But when he notices L’s glance, he makes the lighter disappear into his jeans pocket, leans his left arm on the counter and contents himself with watching how L carefully sinks the tea bag into the clay mug and adds water to it. The detective then gets a spoon, his pastry plate and a bowl of sugar cubes and sets them next to the cup. Then he just stands there, shoulders slumped forward a little and hands in his pockets, pretending that his whole concentration is focused on the tea cup.  
L had left the envelope on the kitchen island, to his right when he came in and could now feel its presence like a pulsating throb, nagging at the fringes of his vision. He’s not sure how B would react if he saw him going through his private information. At least the letter printed on it is facing down. He decides to just wait until he is back upstairs so he can read it in private.  
B’s bar-stool creaks as he bends forward and reaches his left arm across the island, leaning a little too close into the detective, to put his index and middle finger on the envelope and then he slowly pulls it towards them, sliding it across the table surface, because of course the bastard would know that L was thinking about it.  
L knows that B is leaning into him on purpose, probably to antagonize him further, but he stubbornly refuses to give him an inch and he stays rooted on the spot. He gets a whiff of strawberries and realizes that it is emanating from his successor’s hair. Odd choice of shampoo for someone his age, he thinks, and immediately knows that it is someone else’s shampoo that B is using.  
B turns his head and looks up at L, his face so close, that he can see a dim glimmer of red within the deep brown depths of his penetrating glare. A flash of fangs and blood tears come back to L and he wavers, would have taken a step back, but for B’s right hand that shoots forward to support him by pushing against his lower back.  
“What do we have here?” B says in almost a whisper, that last r resounding in his throat, like a purr.  
L can see those eyes laughing at him, mocking him, his own grey eyes reflected in them and he gives himself a mental kick in the ass. What the hell was wrong with him today?  
Instead of leaning away and back, into the arm behind him, L leans forward, his nose almost touching B’s and he whispers back, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”  
B gives him that sardonic smile again.  
I know that got to you, you fucker, that smile seems to say.  
Chuckling to himself, B pulls himself upright and he lifts the envelope from the counter to dangle it in front of the detective’s face.  
“Well,” he says, “let’s look at the evidence, shall we? Just like one of the many games you like your little pawns to play at your bidding.”  
“If you are referring to the exams,” L cuts in, “let me assure you that I do not consider them to be games at all, nor do I see you or any of the other children as my little pawns.”  
B stops dangling the envelope, he sits very still, his eyes flashing in anger.  
“Other children?” He asks.  
L moves his right thumb to his mouth, rubs the fingernail along his lower lip and delivers his best impression of doe-eyed, innocent Bambi-L.  
Who’s the fucker now? L thinks.  
B jumps off the bar-stool to loom threateningly over L. His left hand still holding the envelope by a corner as his right hand reaches into his pocket, from which he pulls the lighter. He flicks it open and with the resulting flame, sets the envelope on fire. He holds it for a while, turning his hand to make sure that the fire spreads across the paper evenly and with one step to the side, he flings it into the kitchen sink, to let burn there.  
“It did have my initial on it“, He says with a grin, “but let me assure you, there was nothing of interest in there.”  
The metal casing of the sink reflects the fire’s light onto B’s black hair. L can’t see if it’s giving his eyes that odd red glow again, because the young man has lowered his head, his long bangs leaving his face in shadow. He can’t therefore make out B’s expression when he says in a monotone voice, “You would have found a list of medications I have taken in the past and am taking now, nothing overly exciting, if you ask me, plus the conditions for which I am taking them, which honestly, is none of your fucking business. There was also probably an evaluation regarding my progress in regards to both my mental health and qualities as successor to the great fucking L. Nah, not probably, most fucking definitely. Knowing Pearce, he wrote some sob story about dealing with loss, blah, blah bullshit, ad nauseam.”  
He then leans with his left hand on the kitchen island as he hunches forward. His head bowed, almost as if in a mocking gesture of L’s stance.  
L kneads his lower lip and waits. He wonders where this is going.  
Suddenly, B throws his head and torso back, his long hair whipping L’s face and in a raised tenor voice recites:  
“What a piece of work is a man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculties! In form and moving how express and admirable! In action how like an angel! In apprehension how like a god!”  
He raises his arms.  
“HOW LIKE A GOD!” He yells.  
B lowers his arms and an almost honest smile brightens his slender face like a ray of sunshine breaking through a dark storm front. L is surprised to see tears twinkling in the corners of his eyes and he makes a decision.  
L takes his tea cup from the counter and empties it over the slowly dying fire in the sink. It disintegrates with a fizz.  
“I want to show you something,” He says and turns on his heels.  
L reaches the door to the pantry/short-cut, opens it and not hearing a sound behind him, he turns to look at his successor.  
“You coming?” He asks.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS: Ok, I have to come clean about something.  
> I am a huge sucker for dudes with long, straight hair.  
> I apologize profusely.  
> Not.  
> :P
> 
> PPS: There was Shakespeare in this!


	8. Sugar Fingers and Timid Kisses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L is being a sweet-tooth and B falls into a memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ohmygosh, I am so tired.  
> I just had to get this one done today. It's actually tomorrow now. Well, crap.
> 
> My SO read this and said it is off-putting that a seven year old would hook up with a nineteen year old, and I was like, "Whaaaaaaaaaaat?" So let me clarify this, in B's memory he is fifteen and A is thirteen. I do mention it in there, but just in case.  
> This was probably a huge spoiler. *facepalms*  
> Apologies.

Every pore in him itches to clean up the mess in the sink and put away the things L left on the counter. The smell of burnt paper and tea seeping through his skin, into his hair, his eyes, a frantic scream in the back of his mind, telling him to scratch, scratch, scratch the need away, the need to organize, to shelf, tuck, fold, control everything.  
B stuffs his hands into his pockets and fists them tightly, sinking the nails deep into his palms.  
“You coming?” L asks.  
B nods at him and when L turns into the pantry he smiles to himself. A smile that starts off lighting his eyes with amusement, but quickly spreads across his face into a manic grin, a mask of death, red eyes glowing a deep crimson.  
B senses that something is off about L today.  
The world’s greatest detective, always so composed and pretending like emotions are beneath him, an affliction only ‘normal’ mortals have to suffer and yet, something broke that shell. He saw the look of abject horror on L’s face when he got up from the chair in the corner. He wonders what it was that he saw in that moment, but quickly disregards it. It doesn’t really matter. All he needs to do is to find a way to sink his teeth into that crack and widen it, so he can drop his darkness into it, his hate. He wants to poison L’s mind, weaken his resolve, break him.  
B almost bumps into the target of his aversion. He was so deep into his fantasies of revenge, that he didn’t realize that L had stopped half-way through the pantry.  
He watches as L reaches to the side and lifts the lid from a Tupperware container to quickly grab a three-tiered cookie of jam and powdered sugar. With a happy mmm-sound, the sweet-toothed detective starts to lick the sugar off the top.  
“Want one?” L asks and turns his head sideways to glance back at his successor.  
“I’ll pass.” B answers with a scowl.  
L turns around to face him. He holds the cookie with index and thumb, the other three fingers up, in a posture not unlike a posh lady holding a glass of wine. The detective is anything but a lady, or a gentleman for that matter, B thinks, with that mop of hair, baggy clothes and vacant look in his eyes. But B knows better, he knows this is all bullshit, all an act to seem innocent and harmless.  
I fucking know you, you son of a bitch.  
“You sure?” L prods, “They are a delight.”  
An annoyed stare is all the answer he gets.  
“Suit yourself,” L says with a shrug and pushes the cookie into his mouth. He then twists around again and keeps walking.  
When they reach the opposing door, L wants to use his right hand to turn the door knob, but realizing that he has powdered sugar on his fingers, he uses his left hand instead. Once in the entrance hall, he crosses over to the stairs and is about to lick his sticky fingers, when a dark shape is suddenly at his side.  
“Let me,” B whispers.  
B grabs L’s wrist before he has a chance to react. With a handkerchief from his pocket he starts to gently wipe his superior’s fingers.  
B is sure now, something is wrong with L. Under normal circumstances there isn’t a chance in hell that he would have been able to surprise him like this. He knows how fast L can be. Both him and A have had to spar against him in the past and neither of them had ever been able to take him down. One time they even fought him together and had both ended up with bruises for it. Everyone in the gym at the time had snickered at them.  
The gym, a place of so many memories, all those hours practicing with A, sparring and laughing together.  
The place where everything started.  
Where everything changed. 

*** *** ***

“Are you sure this is alright?” A asks in a whisper.  
B can hear the nervous undertone in his voice.  
“Don’t worry,” He says, “We have Mister Ruvie’s permission. I just told him that we want a little extra training to get ready for the performance at the graduation ceremony and he said it was ok, as long as we make sure to turn off the lights after we are done.”  
They were both wearing their white karategi uniforms and blue belts, and were standing on one of the practice mats in the gym.  
Wammy’s House had its own martial arts trainers. Capoeira, karate, judo and kung fu classes were available to the orphans, taught by some of the best masters of their craft. Most kids developed their own fighting styles after a few years and were able to hold their own by the time they graduated from Wammy’s. It wasn’t unusual for most of them to have a brown, or even black belt by then.  
Being rather small in stature and delicate, A had always had self-esteem problems, other boys his age had shot up like bean stalks and were, for the most part, pimply faced pubescent bundles of hormones with all the misdirected sexual energy that comes with it. B thought they were all a bunch of idiots, the way they would parade in small groups, egging each other on to do some stupid feat to impress the girls. It did make for interesting case studies in courtship and mating rituals of young adults and he had written a whole thesis on it, which had gotten him a recommendation from the biology prof, but also a stern reminder, to please use animals for his next research paper, and not his fellow students.  
A, with his spotless, porcelain-like skin and the frame of a young girl, was often made the target for some of the rougher boys’ dirty jokes. But no one dared touch him, not with the presence of the older B always close by to remind everyone with his penetrating glare to stay the fuck away from his friend or deal with the consequences.  
They were complete opposites. Where A was pale, small, with green eyes and auburn hair, B was tall for his age, his skin tanned from being outdoors, brown eyed with black hair, and although slim he had a strong upper body and arms. No one fucked with B, ever.  
The two of them made a strange pair and tended to stay aloof from everyone else.  
The older boy couldn’t protect his best friend from the verbal abuse all the time, as they were in different classes and didn’t share a curriculum, but A was so far ahead in his studies, that his teachers were going to let him skip a year. That would mean that they would be sharing classes after the summer holidays. Something they were both looking forward to.  
It had been after a really bad day of verbal mobbing three years ago, when B had found A hiding in his room, crying under his sheets, that he had suggested for A to try martial arts. B knew that he couldn’t protect his friend all the time and he figured that a boost in body confidence could give him the backbone to stand up for himself.  
A had been hesitant at first, but he had surprised everyone when it turned out that there was a natural talent for martial arts hiding within him that, thanks to B’s and the Karate sensei’s patient tutelage, had come to light and spread its wings and had shot him forward to blue belt in less than three years.  
Now, at thirteen and B at fifteen, they were both the most advanced in Karate in their respective age groups and they were thinking about tackling Capoeira after reaching brown belt in the next semester.  
The graduating class of 1996 had their ceremony next week and it was traditional at Wammy’s House to hold a school festival, closed to the public, of course, where the students displayed their best works of the year. This included both academic and physical feats. There was going to be a knife throwing performance this year, a display of ballroom dance and at the end, a small martial arts competition.  
This was going to be A’s first time performing to the whole school and he was nervous, which is why B had asked Roger for special permission to use the gym after dinner. He was hoping to alleviate some of the performance anxiety by getting extra practice before the big day.  
They had already warmed up and B could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins. He was jumping up and down on his toes and looking at A, who was standing, a whole head smaller than him, on the other side of the mat, eyes closed, concentrating inward, as he always did before a fight.  
“Come on, come on, come on,” B mumbles impatiently.  
A takes a deep breath, locks eyes with him and smiles.  
“Ready,” he says.  
B grins back and stands still so that they can both bow to each other.  
After the customary greeting, they start circling the mat, eyes locked, arms in defensive position, knees bent, the sound of their naked feet rubbing the practice mat, echoing in the empty gym.  
B rubs his nose with his thumb in typical Bruce Lee fashion, taunting his small friend.  
“Come on you little shit. Show me what you can,…”  
Before he can finish the sentence, A has taken a quick step forward and has kicked the older boy on the side of the leg with his left foot. With a quick jump he makes sure to keep a safe distance away from his friend’s longer legs.  
“Little what now?” A says, trying to contain laughter.  
“Oh, I see, being cocky today, aren’t we?” B says as he feints a jump to the right, only to take a quick step left, and with a fast twist of his torso, he kicks up his leg to land a hit on his opponent’s head, only to miss as A ducks out of the way.  
“Dude, really?” A asks and realizes his mistake a split-second too late, when B drops to a crouch, shoots his leg out and with the force of his turn kicks his friend’s feet off the mat.  
A lands on his back with a loud “Oomph!” as his breath is knocked out of him.  
“Yeees!” B yells, his arms raised in triumph as he does a little tip-toeing dance around A, who looks up at him with such a complete look of surprise on his face, that B starts laughing.  
“Ok, ok, Balboa, calm down,” A says up to him, “and help me up, will you?”  
Still giggling, B offers his hand to A and starts to pull him up, but the smaller boy leans into the momentum of the pull , grabs B’s karategi top with his other hand and flips him over his shoulder. Propelled by the force of his own body weight, B lands hard on the mat. A drops on top of him and pins B’s arm behind his back, holding his friend’s long legs down with this own.  
“Oh, you cheat!” B says as laughter ripples through his body, “Have you been taking notes from the judo kids?”  
A presses his body close to B’s so he can look him in the eye and says with a wicked grin, “Maybe?” and he plants a quick kiss on the side of B’s lips.  
B holds his breath and blinks, confusion and then a slow understanding dawning on him.  
They look at each other in silence. A seems to be in shock at his own bold move and B can clearly see panic starting to flood his friend’s mind. He feels the other boy’s body starting to shake with fear. Releasing B from his hold, A starts to pull back and away from him, when B says, “Wait…” and he moves his freed arm around A’s waist, to keep him close, on top of him.  
“Wait,” B says again, in a whisper this time.  
He can see A’s green eyes sparkling with contained tears, his small frame shaking.  
With his other hand, B gently raises A’s chin, their mouths only inches apart, their breaths mingling in a second of uncertainty in which myriad questions buzz through his brain. Questions he wants to ask, has to ask, but he pushes them all to the side and presses his lips softly against A’s. He feels his friend relax in his arms as a sob resounds from the back of his throat.  
In gentle small kisses, they tenderly explore each other’s lips. A has his eyes closed, warm tears spilling down his cheeks, giving their timid pecks a salty taste.  
B slowly moves his fingers from A’s chin to his neck, to hold his face close and steady. The gentle, almost spidery way in which his fingers move across A’s skin, makes him lose a moan. B thinks his brain is going to implode at the sound. He wants to hear it again, and again.  
He feels A’s hand move into his karategi shirt, spreading it open to reveal his heaving chest and he starts running his lips down B’s chin, over his exposed neck leaving a trail of small butterfly kisses.  
B leans his head back, pressing it against the mat and can’t help groaning with need, his hand in A’s long, auburn hair that cascades around his face, tickling B’s chest.  
A’s body shudders as he feels B’s erection pressing against his leg.  
But B wraps his arms around A’s fragile frame and tries to hold him still. He pushes his friend’s head to his chest. A can hear B’s heart throbbing, an echo of his own beating pulse that is rushing in his ears.  
“Stop,” B says through gasps of air. He needs air. It feels like his lungs, his heart, his whole body, might explode with want.  
A doesn’t move, doesn’t even dare to blink, as B holds him close.  
“Fuck!” B says.  
“I’m sorry Bee, I didn’t mean to…” A starts to say, but B interrupts him.  
“Aiden, I …” He says.  
A gasps in shock, pushes himself off from B and falling on his back starts to crawl away from him.  
“How do you know?” A asks, his voice a high pitched tone of fear, “Bee! How do you know my name?”  
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!” B says through gritted teeth and he rubs his hands over his face.

*** *** ***

L can’t move. What just happened? He wonders as he watches B wipe the sugar off his fingers. How the fuck did B manage to grab his wrist like that?  
L glares at B, looking for any sign of belligerent attitude in his successor but B’s face is blank. He seems to be entirely devoted to the task of cleaning L’s hand.  
The winter sun shines through the stained glass in the main entrance’s double doors, bathing the two young men, who are standing so close to each other that L could count B’s eyelashes if he wanted to, in a broken puzzle of blue and green light.  
An almost comfortable silence settles between them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to watch Karate vids for this one and research how long it takes to reach a new belt level and what the uniform is called.  
> Any mistakes regarding martial arts are to blame on my own inability to get things right.  
> If anyone sees mistakes, please let me know, and if changing details doesn't kill the flow of the plot, I will absolutely fix them.
> 
> Thank you for the Kudos everyone! Knowing someone out there is actually reading this, makes me just want to write more!
> 
> Now, off to sleep! G'night!


	9. Doth follow night, who like a fiend from heaven to hell is flown away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out what L wants to show to his successor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy new year!
> 
> Sorry that this update took so long.

Aiden had run away from the gym. B couldn’t give him an answer, he didn’t know how to explain his cursed eyes and even if he could, he was too scared that it might frighten him away. He had stayed silent, on the training mat, letting his best friend, his only friend, leave. Later, B had gone to his room and wanted to at least apologize, but when he knocked at his suite-mate’s door, there was only silence.

It was going to be weeks before he’d see A again.

“Gong!”

B blinks.

“Gong!” 

He stops wiping L’s fingers.

“Gong!”

“That fucking clock”, B grumbles annoyed, “One day I’ll take an ax to it.”

“Hmmm,” L says, “it’s an antique you know, I don’t think Wammy would appreciate it if you were to turn his ancestor’s grandfather-clock to fire wood.” 

“Whatever,” B whispers and he releases his hold on L’s wrist. The hand drops like the extremity of a rag doll.  
L raises his hand to eye level and inspects it thoroughly, turning it this way and that.

“Thank you,” he says, “that really wasn’t necessary.”

“You were going to lick the sugar off,” B says and tucks his neatly folded handkerchief back into this left pocket, “it’s disgusting.”

“Oh?” L asks and peaks through his messy, uncut bangs at his successor.

B notices just how close and comfortable they are standing to each other, he can see his own reflection in those grey eyes.

“You were going to show me something?” B asks and takes a step back.

“Ah yes,” L answers.

The detective tucks both hands into his pockets and starts to make his way upstairs. He doesn’t need to look back to know that B is following him.

They walk up in silence, only the occasional groan of the empty house settling around them and the creak of their steps on the old staircase.

How easy it would be, B thinks, a trip, a push, a tumble down the stairs, a broken neck. It would be too easy. This asshole deserves more than that. A body is broken too fast, but B wants to tear apart L’s resolve, his soul, the thing that makes him who he is: his mind. He wants L to know that it was him, B, the second best, the fucking Backup, that broke him.

B glares at the detective’s figure as he takes one step at a time, up and up they go, like two convicts on their way to the gallows.

B has to swallow a mad giggle.

When they reach the third floor, L stops suddenly to look at the cork-board next to B’s suite and the younger man is awakened from his little mental trip to revenge land. 

“What’s with the double initials?” L asks.

B stops next to him to look at the pinned note with the two B’s. From the corner of his eyes he can see that the detective is giving him an inquisitive glance.

“My name,” B says with a shrug, “I got tired of the B. The fuck is B for anyway? Bastard? Belligerent? Boredom? Backup? So I gave myself a new name. Two B’s instead of one. Double the trouble A used to say.”

“And what does it stand for?” L asks, “Belligerent Bastard?”

B snickers. 

“Yeah fucking right,” he says and turns towards the detective. He leans his head into L, their foreheads almost touching and he whispers, “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

“Touché”, L says and decides to drop the subject. He goes back to the stairs, to reach the fourth floor, where his penthouse lies.

When L opens his front door and steps into the parlour, he notices that B hesitates to come in. 

“Come on in BB,” he says, in what he hopes is an inviting tone.

B, who was staring at the scattered notes and papers on the floor, looks up at that and raises an eyebrow. 

“That is your chosen name, is it not?”

B nods.

“Well then, please, come on in BB,” L says again.

B had not expected this. This is the first time he’s set foot in his superior’s private quarters. Is L putting on a friendly façade and luring him into his rooms to have the home advantage? He must know how odd and uncomfortable this must be for his successor.

He better play it safe while they are up here. He doesn’t like this at all.

He sees that L is waiting for him by the second door to the left and he steps over the threshold, trying to look at everything and masking his uncertainty and curiosity.

The high ceiling is supported by wooden beams. This must have been an attic once, he realizes. He is surprised to notice that even with the lofty ceiling and the big glass wall on the other side of the room, the place feels warm. The floor is dark, solid hardwood and there are a few rugs of different textures lying on it. L, who is always barefoot when indoors, must like the sensation of different surfaces on the soles of his feet. There is a glass coffee-table in the middle, a red antique armchair and a wheat-coloured loveseat sofa with brown pillows. There are two Victorian side-boards, on each side of the room. One of them supporting a gorgeous, huge juniper bonsai with gnarly branches. On the other side-board he can see an antique Chinese tea set in white and blue porcelain and on the wall over it hangs a tall wood block print from the Japanese Edo period displaying a courtesan surrounded by cherry trees.

He hates to admit it, but the place feels comfortable.

He has to make a few wide strides to avoid stepping on any of the files on the floor. He notices what looks like a small fort of newspapers in the far corner and wonders what on earth the eccentric detective was doing with it. It seems so out of place.

As he gets closer to the door, he notices the view from L’s balcony and can’t help a whistle of appreciation at the snow-covered wonderland. The room faces the back of the estate. The gym lies to the left and is not visible from here and the wall around the orphanage is lower than the main building, which means that there is an unobstructed view of the hills, fields and forest from up here, unlike the view from any of the windows in B’s room, just a floor below.

Fuck, B thinks, this asshole retreats up here and hides from all of us in his own little kingdom. He plays the part of messy, disheveled detective and lives this? Fucking hell!

L steps back when B reaches him and nods at the door.

“After you,” he says.

B squints at him.

“Is this one of your mind-fucking tests?” He asks.

“One of my what?” L blinks in confusion. “I promise you, this is no test, there are no Goonie-booby-traps waiting for you in there.”

L lifts his right hand and offers his pinky finger to B, in a childish move to ease his successors mistrust.

“Pinky swear,” he says and tries to smile.

What the actual fuck? B thinks.

“How old are you?” B asks him and slaps L’s hand away.

L puts his pinky into the right side of his mouth, pulling down his pouty lips as he looks up at the ceiling, shoulders hunched.

“Hmmmm,” he mumbles,”Lemme think. Seven-teen? No, that can’t be it. Hmmmm,… fifty? Wait, wait. I know!”

He blinks and looks at B with a twinkling in his eyes, like a toddler looking for recognition from a parent, after a job well done.

“Twenty-one!” He says in a triumphant yelp and raises his finger.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, L,” B says.

“Well, no,” L replies with a pout, “I really am twenty-one,… I think.”

B can’t take it anymore, this idiot with his goddamn games and his constant tests of everything and everyone around him.  
Who are you really L? B thinks. Do you even know anymore or has this persona you have created taken possession of your true self?

“Fine,” he mutters and enters the dark room. Behind him, L flicks the light switch and B sees books everywhere. There are tall bookshelves on the walls, filled with books. Piles of books neatly stacked on the floor too. There is a reading-nook in the far corner of the room, where the ceiling leans down, set up with a mattress on the floor and pillows of all sizes, plus a reading lamp attached to the wall. There are no windows and B figures that to protect the books from sunlight this room was specifically chosen to hold L’s private library. 

He turns to L, raising an eyebrow. 

“What is this?” He asks.

“Hmm, wait”, L says as he steps to a small wooden chest with decorative metal inlays, that sits right next to the reading corner.

He kneels down and opens the chest. B can’t see what he lifts from it and he takes a few steps forward, curiosity winning over mistrust, to peek over the hunched detective’s shoulder. 

He can see that it is a big, heavy looking book in what seems to be leather binding. 

L turns his face up to look at him and says, “See? No traps, just a book. Please sit. Let me show you.”

B hesitates for a moment, but ends up sitting cross legged on a corner of the mattress. L carefully places the book in B’s lap and then hunches back, eyes wide and just waits.

“Okeyyyy then,” B whispers.

He gives L a last look of distrust before turning his attention to the heavy book in front of him. The cover really is leather, he realizes as he runs his fingers over the soft surface. There is no title on it, no decorations either, but the leather has that discoloured brown that comes with age, especially at the borders and it has lost the distinctive smell of newer leather products. 

He opens the book and marvels at the binding, it looks handmade. The paper is thick and has rough edges.

He turns the first page to read the title. It has been written in black ink, by hand, in beautiful cursive style: 

>Sonnets and Poems by the Bard of Avon<

What is this? B thinks and turns another page to reveal a hand-drawn ink portrait of William Shakespeare. He sees that the artist has signed it with two initials: LL.

He runs his thumb over the signature and asks, “What is this? Lanky Limpdick?” And he glances up, through his long bangs at L, who just stares at him.

B’s look flickers from the detective’s eyes to somewhere above his head to quickly fall back down to the drawing. A wicked grin slowly spreading on his face.

“Double the trouble, right?” He asks.

L doesn’t reply, but instead flops his butt on the floor and pulls up his knees to his chest, hands resting on them, his unblinking stare fixed on B.

“Ok you demented gargoyle toad,” B mumbles and turns his attention back to the book.

This is a test, he thinks, it has to be. What is this bastard looking for, what reactions is he expecting from me?

He turns another page. 

There is an intricate illustration along the border, in what looks like watercolours, in medieval style. Twisted branches of a rose bush with black thorns and blood red petals. B marvels at the details of the flowers, he can tell that this was done with the utmost care. The text is written in the same tidy cursive as the title.

In his deep baritone voice, he reads,

“Those lips that Love's own hand did make  
Breathed forth the sound that said 'I hate,'  
To me that languish'd for her sake:  
But when she saw my woeful state,  
Straight in her heart did mercy come,  
Chiding that tongue that ever sweet  
Was used in giving gentle doom,  
And taught it thus anew to greet:  
'I hate' she alter'd with an end,  
That follow'd it as gentle day  
Doth follow night, who like a fiend  
From heaven to hell is flown away;  
'I hate' from hate away she threw,  
And saved my life, saying -- 'not you.' “

B stops.

“Not you,…” he whispers.

“You have a good voice for reciting,” L says.

B raises his head and says, “This is Shakespeare’s Sonnet 145.”

He looks down at the book and turns page after page of beautiful illustrations and hand written poems.

“You did this?” He asks.

“Hmmm, yes,” L says, “everyone needs a hobby, right?”

“This is not a hobby, this is a work of art,” B whispers in awe. He can’t help it, he can’t hide his surprise. “How do you find the time between being L, Eraldo Coil and Deneuve, to do this?”

“Oh, it helps to unwind, I guess,” L cocks his head to the side, staring the book in B’s lap, “It helps to pass the sleepless nights.”

“Did you bind it too?” B asks.

L nods in answer.

“Have you done more?”

L nods again and waves at the trunk. B lifts the lid and sees more leather bound books in there.

“I’ve done Cymbeline, the Tempest, Pericles, The Winter’s Tale, Julius Caesar and am working on Macbeth at the moment,” L says, “I was thinking of doing Hamlet after that.”

“What the fuck?” Is all B can say.

A loud ringing comes from the other room. 

“Feel free to look at them, or any other book, if you like,” L says, gets up and walks to the door, “I need to answer that.”

B watches as L raises from the floor and with his hands in his pockets, he steps out of the library.

“What the fuck?” B says again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you don't know what "Goonie-booby-trap" means, I feel for you.
> 
> Go watch the Goonies!


	10. Bull Genitals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "How are things going?" Wammy wants to know and things go south from there.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Trigger warning for a bunch of stuff:  
> \- insinuated child abuse  
> \- panic attack
> 
> Lotsa swearing ahead.  
> This basically goes for all the time BB is talking, so expect more of it in future chapters.

Well, that was interesting, L muses as he makes his way across the lounge to the door of his office, opposite the library. When he steps in, he leaves the door slightly ajar, to get some of the sunlight into the windowless room. He has a small reading lamp on the floor, next to his workplace, that he now switches on. A small pool of light reveals L’s computer, sound-system with microphone and a small, but loud wireless phone that keeps ringing and ringing. L doesn’t use a desk when he is working, he much prefers to get comfortable on the floor, in this white, padded room. There are no distracting decorations or pieces of furniture in his office, a stark contrast to the warm, book-filled library where he left his successor.

L sits cross-legged on the floor and picks up the phone. 

“Watari,” he says.

Over the phone and other correspondence the detective always refers to his mentor by his pseudonym. 

The old man’s voice sounds tired as he says, “L, we arrived at the hotel an hour ago. It took a while to check everyone in and assign rooms. I finally have a quiet moment and wanted to ask how things are going.”

“Things?” L asks.

“B,” Wammy says, “have you seen him?”

“He is in the other room as we speak,” L replies.

There is a moment of shocked silence and the detective waits patiently for Wammy to digest that information.

“In your quarters?” Wammy asks and L can hear the incredulity in his voice.

“Is that a problem?” He asks.

“No, not at all,… I’m just surprised,” Wammy says.

“You did tell me to try,” L says, “This is me trying and I must say, it has been a very,… hmmm,… interesting experience so far.”

“L, that is your detective voice,” Wammy says sternly, “The boy is not a case you have to crack, he is a traumatized young man that could use a friend to talk to.”

“And so am I,” L says, his voice lowering to almost a whisper, “Is that what you are saying, old friend?”

“Maybe,” Wammy says tiredly and L can just picture him rubbing his eyes in exasperation, “Did you read the information I left you on him?”

“No, I couldn’t,” L says, almost amused, “I’m afraid the envelope went up in flames.”

Wammy sighs and says, “That lighter of his, right? He is always playing with it.”

L doesn’t bother replying to that.

“Listen to me L,” Wammy says and there is something of a worried and urgent tone to his voice, “You don’t know everything, Roger and I thought it would be best to not inform you of what really happened with A. We were in Rome at the time, working on the Natalia Case and you were,… well, you know.”

Natalia, a four year old child that had gone missing during a family outing in Nice, France. L took up the case after reading the parents’ plea for help in the newspapers. With the help of Interpol he traced her all the way to Rome, where he uncovered a human trafficking ring that kidnapped children from all over Europe and had put an end to their criminal activities about three years ago. But not fast enough to save her. Natalia’s face and her parents’ screams was one of the many nightmares that haunted his sleep.

“I know, Watari,” L says quietly, a knot in his throat chocking the breath out of him.

“You were in a bad place,” Wammy clears his throat. “We didn’t want to burden you with more and then,… well, Dr. Pearce didn’t think it was a good idea to tell you.”

L swallows hard and grips the phone tighter.

“Tell me what?” He says through gritted teeth.

“It was all in the envelope,” Wammy says, “I thought it best if you knew now that you’ll be alone with B for a few days.”

“If I knew what?” L says louder this time, “Watari?”

“Wait, there’s a knock at the door,” Watari says, “I’ll be right back.”

L grips the phone tighter, the image of Natalia’s face fading in and out of his vision. Those big brown eyes of hers staring at him accusingly.

“Why didn’t you come for me, L?” The shadows whisper.

L bends forward, his stomach clenching in pain. 

“Why?” The shadows say, “Why, L? Why?”

The phone slips from his fingers and falls to the floor. He clutches his hands to his ears to keep the voices away. The pain in his stomach spreads over his whole torso and he grunts in pain, bent forward.

Suddenly there is a hand on his shoulder and he looks up and sees the blood red eyes of a demon staring at him. Fangs ready to tear into his flesh. Is it the creature’s claws that are causing this unbearable pain?

L throws himself back and supporting his body with his hands on the floor he kicks up with his right leg at the monster that is leering over him. He hits the shadowy figure on the side and hears it fall to the ground with a loud “Oof!” But it recovers quickly and jumps at him. L, like a deer in the headlights, can’t move from shock as those fiery eyes keep him entranced in their glare.

“Why?” L whispers, “Why?”

The monster, that had raised an arm, about to hit him, suddenly engulfs him in its arms instead. As L struggles to get free, they fall sideways on the floor.

The arms hug him tighter and L hears a deep voice say, “L, for fuck’s sake! L! Stop struggling goddamnit!”

The smell of strawberries invades L’s senses, he can feel soft, velvety hair against his face. 

Natalia’s face fades back into the shadows, leaving just a dull ache in his chest. 

He stops trying to fight away the body that is holding him close. 

“We good?” He hears BB say by his ear.

L lies really still, trying to catch his breath, he gasps for air.

“Here,” BB says, “follow my cue, breathe with me. Innnn and ouuut, innnn and ouuuut.”

BB holds L’s face to his chest and they both breathe together.

“L? What’s wrong? L?” Wammy’s voice sounds from the fallen phone.

With his free hand, careful as not to move L’s body, BB reaches over the floor and takes the phone.

“Hey old man,” He says.

“B?” Wammy says, almost yelling, “Where is L? What happened?”

“Relax,” BB says quietly, “I’ve got him. Just a small panic attack. Everything is cool and peaches.”

He hears Wammy sigh.

“Don’t worry, your precious boy of wonder is in good hands,” BB says and hangs up.

He sets the phone back on the floor and wraps both arms around the slight frame of L.

“Look, I don’t know what just happened, but take your time, I’ve got you.”

He can feel L breathing easier and relaxing a little.

BB strokes L’s head, surprised that the fuzzy mess that is his hair feels so soft. L smells like cinnamon and lemons, he realizes, not an unpleasant smell. He can’t remember the last time he held someone this close. BB closes his eyes and tries to remember when he held Aiden last in an embrace like this. Thinking of his green eyed, auburn haired lover, who was so different from this disheveled mess of a detective, BB runs his right arm up L’s back, under his shirt.  
He feels L tense his body and suddenly the weight of his body lifts from BB. He opens his eyes to see L standing over him, hands deep in his pockets and in his usual hunch.

“Don’t touch me,” L says in a threatening tone, “Don’t you ever fucking touch me.”

BB blinks up at him.

“You are welcome, you fucking asshole,” the younger man says.

BB gets up and rubs his left arm.

“Nice kick, by the way,” he says with a grin.

Wait, did the mighty L just wince? BB asks himself, grinning wider.

“I’m sorry,” L says, “I didn’t know it was you, I reacted on instinct.”

“Sure, don’t sweat it,” BB says with a shrug, “Not my first rodeo on the panic bull.”

This makes L look up and he almost smiles when he asks, “The panic bull?”

“Yeah,” BB says, “You have to grab that motherfucker by the balls and make him your bitch, so next time, it won’t kick your ass so hard.”

“Is that so?” L says, cocking his head to the side and blinking at BB, “Do you have a lot of experience with bull ball grabbing?”

BB stops rubbing his bruised arm and his eyes widen in surprise.

“Oh my fucking god!” He says ”Is that your attempt at humour? L, the mighty detective, trying to make a fucking joke?”

BB throws his head back and laughs and laughs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beyond Birthday is a potty mouth.  
> L not so much, only when he loses control and/or is being an evil bastard.  
> I love them to bits.


	11. Psychobabble Crap

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the aftermath of L's panic attack, the two young men have a conversation that is very enlightening to BB.  
> We get a glimpse into the detective's pre-Wammy past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is one of the chapters where my warnings at the beginning apply.  
> For those who want to avoid it, skip the last part of the chapter, after the  
> *** *** ***

They were sitting in the parlour, L in his red armchair, with his legs pulled up to his chest and BB in the loveseat, trying to untangle some knots from his hair, that the little altercation in the office had caused. He kept giving side-long glances at L, who looked paler than usual and hadn’t said a word since BB’s outbreak of laughter.

He couldn’t figure it out. L was all over the place today. One minute he is composed and his normal aloof self and the next he is a trembling mess of nerves. Then again, BB had never spent this much time around the detective before, so what did he know? Maybe this was normal?

But the real question here is, he thought, how to use this to his advantage?

“You wanna talk about it?” He asks, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.

L blinks as if stirred from a waking dream and his eyes swerve to the right, to look at his successor, who seems completely taken with the task of running his fingers through his hair.

“Hmm?” L mumbles.

BB pulls the rest of his hair over his left shoulder, to the front, to get to more knots and asks again, “Do you want to talk about it?”

“Talk? About what?” L says, “What do you want to talk about BB?”

Untangling the last of the knots, BB looks up at his superior and gives him what Aiden used to call his ‘are you kidding me right now’ look.

“Oh, that,” L says and looks away to stare into nothing again.

“Listen asshole,” BB says. He leans his head back against the backrest of the couch to look at the ceiling. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about any of that psychobabble crap that Dr. Pearce keeps going on about. He keeps pushing me to talk, saying shit like ‘it helps to unload on someone, talk to a friend, blah, blah, bullshit’. I just nod and take my meds and keep my mouth shut. But he does have a point, talking is a good way to exorcise some demons.”

“Wammy said something similar,” L says.

BB frowns at the ceiling and says, “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?”

“That the two of them conspired?” L asks.

“Yeah,” BB whispers.

“I am 97% sure that they did,” L says.

BB gives off a derisive snort and chuckles. “It’s like they planned some kind of sick sleep-over for us where we are supposed to tell each other about our demons and puke our emotions all over the fucking place. Then we’ll have a dance party in our pj’s and eat popcorn over our bleeding hearts and in the morning all will be fucking butterflies and rainbows and we’ll go skipping into the sunrise together, best friends for evah!” He pulls his legs up on the couch to sit cross-legged and asks,“So, what is your deal then?”

“Guilt, regret and a lot of responsibility,” L says. “You?”

“Guilt, regret and a lot of attitude,” BB replies.

“Yeah, I noticed the attitude,” L says, “so much swearing.”

BB moves his left hand over his heart and in mock hurt says, “Ouch, you hurt my fragile ego.”

L turns his body to the right, so he can face BB and says, “Oh please, BB, your ego is anything but.”

“This is true, I am a pretty inflated ass sometimes.” BB says and chuckles.

“Only sometimes? I doubt it.” L actually manages to smile a little.

“Again, ouch! Sheesh man, you are out for blood today.” BB says as he holds his hand up over his heart again. “Seriously though, do you want to talk about it?”

L leans sideways on the backrest of the armchair, his fuzzy bangs covering his eyes and remains silent.

“Well?” BB prods.

“You have zero patience,” L says amused.

“Life is short, man,” BB says and L notices how his eyes flicker up over his head again, and he could swear that his successor’s dark brown eyes really do have a red sheen to them.

“What?” L asks, “Do I have something on my head?”

“Yeah,” BB says with a smirk, “a dunce’s cap.”

“That wouldn’t be too far-fetched,” L muses as he starts to rub his lower lip between his right index and thumb, in one of the odd habits he falls into when he is thinking. “There are days when I feel that dunce’s cap pressing down on me and it takes time to clear my thoughts and sort through the muddled mess of information available to me.” L’s voice goes into a deep mumble when he adds, “sometimes too long.”

And a light goes on in BB’s brain.

This is it, he thinks, the weakness, the soft spot for my teeth. It takes all his willpower to keep down the urge to grin. He has to be very careful about it, he can’t fuck this up. He has to worm himself into L’s circle of trust and get closer to him so that he can tear the bastard’s heart out and push his mind into a downward spiral of self-doubt and madness. 

‘Make him trust you, make him share, make him pay,’ Adrian’s voice whispers to him, ‘make him feel the pain, my pain,… my pain,… my pain,…’

BB clenches his jaw to stop himself to show any reaction of what is going on in his mind, but apparently he couldn’t hide it fast enough.

“What is it BB?” L asks him.

“Just thinking,” BB says quickly, “I should go take my meds.”

He needs to go, he has to think and come up with a plan and he needs an outlet for the rage that is surging through him, before he loses control and fucks this up.

He jumps up from the couch and walks towards the door. He hesitates before leaving the room and without turning around, he asks, “Hey L, thanks for showing me your books. Do you mind if I drop in tomorrow to look at them again? I didn’t really have much time earlier.”

“Hmmm, sure,” L replies.

“Cool, dude. Thanks,” BB says and closes the door behind him.

L stares at the door for a long time. His brow furrowed in confusion. Something isn’t right. First, BB has this whole vibe of aggressive air about him and now he seems to be reaching out in friendship. Why? What does he want? What is he after?  
L had been watching him closely when his successor paged through the Shakespeare book. The awe and surprise had been real. He wasn’t acting. But the rest of it seems fake. He has to admit that he isn’t really an expert on human behavior, Wammy and the criminals he hunts being his only reference, and he was a loner when he was a student here, always keeping everyone at arms’ length, so he doesn’t have any experience with his peers. But still,… something is off. That much he does know.

He supposes he should try to contact Wammy, but he is just so exhausted. It’s getting late too and he is hungry. He’ll postpone it till tomorrow. He should really try to get some work done too. 

L looks down at the criminal files on the floor. It’s like they are staring back at him. More horrors, more death just waiting for him. But if he doesn’t shoulder the burden, who will? The break-down he had in his office should have never happened. Especially not with his successor around.

L closes his eyes and sighs. 

He needs to get a grip and shake this off already.

He’ll just rest for a moment, then he’ll have a quick bite of something and he’ll see if there if any of the requests sent to him by police around the world are worth looking into.

Just a small rest…

*** *** ***

Someone is breathing in the darkness. Short breaths gasping for air.

It is only when he covers his mouth with his hands to blow warm air on them, that he realizes that it is his own breathing he is hearing.

He moves his right hand down to his chest and can feel his small heart beating like crazy.

He is sore. Hahn must have pushed him too hard this time. He must have passed out and it would also explain why breathing is so difficult.

Doesn’t explain the cold though, or the darkness. Where is he?

He reaches around. There is a coarse blanket under him.

He tries to sit up and bangs his head, which causes for him to flop back down. His first instinct is to yelp in pain, but he swallows it down. Hahn hates when L complains, he better be careful or he might come back and hurt him more.

And mother? No help there, she is probably hiding in her little dream world or with a customer. He better just stay real quiet and wait.

The adults forget about him when he is quiet.

L tries to pull the blanket that he is lying on from under him to wrap himself up in it. It is so cold.

Suddenly a click and a light and the roof over his head pulls away.

Hands reach in and grab him by the hair, they pull him up.

Blinking in the sudden light and trying to grasp for the hands that are pulling at his hair, L whimpers in pain.

The hands are now under his arms and pulling him out of,… a car? He was in the trunk of a car. It is night out and a harsh street lamp is the source of the blinding light. L blinks a few times to get accustomed to it.

“Move it shorty!” 

A hand, Hahn’s hand, pushes him forward.

L stumbles and almost falls down and he can hear Hahn grunt in anger. Better not to antagonize him further, L thinks and he straightens himself quickly. 

Hahn guides him up the stairs of a run-down, abandoned apartment complex. The cold has crept into the building and L, who is only in jeans and a t-shirt, shivers uncontrollably. He doesn’t know how many flights of stairs they take, or how many floors they leave behind. It seems like a never ending, agonizing climb of raw cold and grey stone.

They finally stop at an apartment. Hahn knocks three times and a small woman opens the door. She has the gaunt look and empty eyes of his mother, a junkie’s eyes. Where his mother’s youth still shines through though, this woman seems to be twice her age.

When L looks into her eyes, he knows that he doesn’t want to go into this apartment and he steps back, only to step on Hahn’s foot, who curses in German and pushes him forward so that L lands hard on the dirty floor.

He decides that the safest thing to do is to stay on the floor and to try to be really quiet. He curls into a ball, shivering with the cold and the fear that has gripped his heart.

“Get up you little dipshit!” Hahn yells and kicks him in the back.

L swallows down a cry of pain, he can feel tears stinging his eyes and he curls tighter into himself.

“Hahn, enough!” Another voice says.

He can feel someone kneeling next to him and when L looks up, he looks into a young man’s face, wearing huge sun-glasses and with a big, white-teethed smile.

“Come here little one,” the man says in german and he helps L get back on his feet.

He takes L’s hand and guides him to a room with a bed. It seems so out of place in this shabby apartment. The sheets look new and there are fluffy, soft looking pillows with a flowery design on them. 

“You cold?” The man asks.

L nods and shivers.

“Get under the blankets, you’ll warm in no time,” the man says and leaves the room, leaving L alone and closing the door behind him.

L is so confused. What should he do? Where is he? Where is mother?

Instead of getting into the bed, like the man suggested, he steps to the door and puts his ear to it. He can hear Hahn’s loud voice saying, “Five or six I think. Who cares?”

He hears the other man mumbling, L can’t make out what he is saying, he is speaking in a low voice.

“Where is my goddamn money, Klaus?” Hahn yells.

More mumbling from the younger man and L can hear Hahn’s loud steps thumping past the room he is in and leaving the apartment.

Where is he going? Why is he leaving him here, alone?

L can feel panic rising within him and he opens the door.

But he can’t go anywhere, there is a man standing in the doorway.

“You speak Japanese?” The man asks in broken German.

L looks up. The man is wearing an expensive looking suit, glasses and is seems to be sweating profusely through layers of fat.

L takes a step back and nods.

“Good,” the man says in Japanese. He steps into the room and L sees the man in the sun glasses close the door behind him. 

“Let me look at you,” the fat man says and grabs L by the scruff of his shirt, lifting him off the floor.

L tries to kick him, which makes the old man laugh. 

“You are pretty enough,” he says, “your hair looks so soft and your skin is so pale. Beautiful.”

L doesn’t like this at all. He needs to get away.

“Let me go you fat bastard!” He screams in Japanese and tries to kick again.

The fat man throws him on the bed and before L can move, he is turned around and the man is pulling his pants down.

“No! Let me go!” L screams, now in German.

He feels a hard slap on his ass and the man is pulling his hair back, slapping him again and again.

L screams and cries and tries to crawl away, but the man has him pinned down.

“Oh, my beautiful shonen,” he hears the man saying in a purr, “please struggle more, scream more.”

L can hear the man’s hard breathing and a metallic sound, the man unbuckling his belt, L realizes.

He is only five years old, but now he knows what is about to happen. He has seen his mother do this with Hahn and he knows that the customers that come visit do this to her too.

He is scared, so scared and he screams and screams for help, but he knows no one will come to save him, no one cares.

And then there is a pain impaling him and the man grunting, sweating, pulling his hair, biting his shoulder and pushing and pushing.

L can’t scream anymore, he has passed out.

*** *** ***

With a jump, L wakes up. He almost falls off the armchair and he manages to stop himself from toppling onto the floor, by leaning his hand on the coffee-table.

He feels warm tears on his face and a sudden sick feeling in his stomach and he tastes the bile crawling up in the back of his throat.

He almost doesn’t make it to the bathroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry.


	12. Image

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB & L, as drawn by me.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did a drawing with felt-pens and then added the letters in photoshop and played around with it. Not sure which one I like more, so putting both on here.


	13. Pills, a Lock of Hair, Guns and Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We find out how BB and A started dating.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> After the last chapter's awful revelation, I needed a bit of fluff and sprinkled some of it in this chapter. It is very long, due to there being a lot of dialogue.  
> Some NSFW stuff, but nothing overtly graphic.

BB closes the suite’s door behind him and leans with his back against it. He covers his mouth with his left hand to quell the manic laughter that starts to bubble from him. His shoulders start shaking and he can’t stop himself anymore and he lets it all out, he chuckles and guffaws, his normally deep voice reaching almost squeaky heights. He laughs so hard and so long that his stomach muscles start to clench and tears run down his face. His back slips down the door and he throws himself forward, his hands on the floor, his head bent down and his long hair spread around his shoulders and face, spilling on the carpeted floor. He leans his head all the way down, his forehead pressed to the carpet, as he tries to gain back control, his fingers clawing at the floor. It takes him much longer than usual to push the frenzied outburst back into the deepest corner of his mind.

Once the laughter subsides, BB remains in that position on the floor, like a man in prayer to some ungodly entity, and when he is sure that he won’t get any hiccups, he crawls forward on all fours and pulls himself up on the nearest sofa, where he flops on his back, right arm over his eyes, and sighs happily.

“My sweet Aiden, my love,…” he whispers.

And there is an answer from the shadows, “Beyond,… the pain,…”

“I know,”BB says, “I will give it all to him, don’t you worry.”

A grin splits BB’s face, his teeth grinding.

“And now I know just how to do it,” he says.

There is a click-sound and a whirr. BB cranks his head back and looks towards the kitchenette of the suite. On the counter, right next to the sink, sits a black metal box composed of small compartments that look like tiny cupboards. One of them has now opened.

BB jumps up and approaches the box.

One of Wammy’s inventions, the pill dispenser has a timer that unlocks and opens a small container at the programmed time. BB just has to take out his pills and push it back in and a message will be sent to Dr. Pearce that his patient has been a good little puppy and has taken his prescribed medication. 

BB takes out two tiny envelopes. One is marked ‘lunch’ and contains an antidepressant the other one says ‘dinner’ and holds his anxiety and panic disorder pill. He pushes the small box back in until he hears it click in place. He stares at the two envelopes in his hand, then closes his fingers over them and with a quick turn, he goes towards his room.

“Now, where to put you motherfuckers?” He mumbles to himself as his eyes flicker across his bedroom. 

The meds fuck with his concentration and numb his emotions, but he has to be at top performance if he wants to take that asshole down. He wants to feel it all, all the hate and resentment and the giddy sensation of triumph when he has L on his fucking knees, begging for forgiveness, begging for BB to end it.

“But we won’t, will we?” BB says with that manic grin reappearing on his face. “We will give him all the pain and break his mind like a twig.”

He can feel A’s presence inside his chest, a warm feeling of comfort that at times burns like a small fire inside of him, a fire that spreads and consumes him with need and lust and hate. Dr. Pearce’s meds had numbed that fire for too long, time to set it free.

He goes to his tidy, spotless desk and opens one of the attached drawers, there are two. The top one contains a flashlight, his old metal pencil-case, rusted at the edges, a memento he is unwilling to part with, and lined notebook paper, still wrapped up in plastic; like the victim at a crime-scene, he thinks and smirks; and a cardboard box he made in art class when he was ten.

This is what he takes out. 

He opens the box and takes the six batteries he had in there, lining them up neatly next to each other by the pencil-case. He then drops the medication envelopes into it, closes it and sets the box back into the drawer. After closing that, his hand moves down, to the bottom drawer, and he pulls it out all the way and takes it to his newly changed bed. He had to change the sheets after all, it was itching at the back of his eye-balls that he would have to sleep in sweaty sheets tonight and although he hates himself for not being able to fight his cleaning urge, he had found a clean pair in his wardrobe and had taken care of it after his morning shower.

He sits crossed legged on his bed, leaning against the wall and pulls the drawer on his lap.

His eyes light up and a wistful smile brightens his face, softening his features, the angry lines around his eyes fade away and L would have been surprised to see how much younger his successor looked right now. 

BB takes out a small safety box, locked with a key that he has attached to the underside of his bed with tape.

“Our little safe of pleasure,” he hears Aiden’s voice say in his head.

It contains condoms, lube and a few naughty toys, including a set of real handcuffs that BB had swiped from one of their classes on police gear and equipment. Aiden had been so shocked when BB pulled them out that evening, but had quickly learned to appreciate them when he had been restrained and blindfolded during what was to be only the first of many role-playing games they would have fun with over the next few years.

BB can feel the growing erection against his jeans, just at the thought of Aiden’s open, gasping mouth and flushed cheeks on that first night with the handcuffs. He pulls at the crotch of his pants to make a little extra room and avoid the fabric from pinching him, and tries to ignore it away, by taking out the next object from the box, a scrap-book, given to him by Aiden on their last Christmas together.

He opens it slowly, savouring the pang of nostalgia and grief that pierces his heart.

There is a flyer on the first page, an advertisement for a hair-saloon in Paris called “Les Petits Ciseaux” and a purple envelope is stuck right under it. BB opens it carefully and pulls out a thick lock of auburn hair, he holds it up to his nose, to breathe in the fading scent of strawberry shampoo and when he closes his eyes a single tear drop runs down his cheek.

*** *** ***

The kids at Wammy’s House had the chance to take supervised trips during their two month long summer vacation. There was a notice board with all of that year’s options and lists where the students could put down their names. One could also opt out and stay on the premises to pursue their own studies, or if they were old enough, get a summer job in Winchester. The trips were encouraged as a way for the kids to practice their language skills, experience new cultures and learn how to move around in the world. 

The year of the gym incident A and B had both signed up for a tour of Japan. It had been the first time that a vacation to the land of the rising sun had been made available, and it being B’s land of origin, he had always cultivated a curiosity for it. He had signed them both up for it as soon as the lists went up.

They were going to leave the day after the graduation ceremony with the Japanese teacher, Sato San and the professor for far eastern arts and history, Mr. Gladstone, in a small group of twenty-three students. They had been looking forward to the trip for months and both their travel backpacks were almost ready to go.

And then B fucked up.

Aiden kissing him during their training session had caught him completely off-guard and his own reaction, his own hunger for the younger boy, had surprised him. A’s name had slipped out before he knew it and there was no taking it back now. So he went to their rooms, looking for A, hoping to apologize and explain, but A wouldn’t answer his door. It was only in the next morning, when Mr. Wammy himself came to see him that B found out that his friend had left.

They were sitting in the common room of the suite, Wammy in one of the two couches, and B standing in front of him, his hands fisted in defiance.

“He wouldn’t tell me what happened, so I was hoping you could shed some light on yesterday’s incident,” Wammy says, “and explain to me, why your room-mate woke me up before sunrise, knocking a hole in my door.”

B just shrugs.

“Nothing?” Wammy asks and when B shakes his head, he pushes his glasses up to rub the bridge of his nose and mumbles, “Teenagers!” with a sigh.

“Where is he?” B asks.

Wammy fixes his glasses back on his nose and looks up at the fifteen-year old before him.

“On his way to London with Mr. Ruvie,” Wammy says, “they will be staying at the Heathrow Hotel until the day after tomorrow and then A will be leaving with the French group for Charles-de-Gaulle airport.”

B looks up at the principal and owner of the orphanage, at a loss for words, his jaw slack in shock.

“Wha’,…” B swallows hard. ”What?” He manages to say.

“Let me tell you,” Wammy says sternly,”a change of plans at such short notice has been a real headache and nothing that I want to have to do again.”

“But,… why? What?” B says confused.

“Well,” Wammy says, “A refused to come back here, he seemed afraid to and wouldn’t even agree on sleeping in one of the other suites.”

Here he looks up at B and says, “I have to ask you B, did the two of you fight? Did you hurt A in any way?”

B’s tanned complexion goes pale and he takes a step back, away from the accusing glance the principal is giving him.

“God, no,” the young man says, “I would never lay a fucking finger on him, he is my friend, my best friend, my only friend!”

Hearing the pain in the student’s voice, Wammy decides to let it slide that he just burst out a swear word.

“Will you tell me what happened?” He asks instead.

“Nothing happened, we were getting some extra training for tomorrow’s performance and… “ B hesitates.

Wammy patiently waits for B to continue, but when instead of finishing the sentence, the teenager falls to his knees and digs his hands into his short black hair in a show of utter confusion and defeat, he decides it’s for the best to not press him further.

“It’s alright B,” he says, “you don’t have to tell me.”

B raises his head and Wammy can see a look of gratitude on the young man’s face.

“Will you still be going to Japan or should I change your travel plans too?” Wammy asks.

B lowers his hands and stares at the floor.

“We were supposed to celebrate his birthday in Hokkaido, “ B whispers to himself.

Wammy waits silently and gives him time to think things through.  
“No,” B says and raises his head, “I’ll go. No point in wasting this opportunity. I’m sure that we can figure things out after the summer. It’ll be ok.”

“Alright,” Wammy says and raises from the couch, “Will you be performing tomorrow? Maybe with another sparring partner?”

“None of the other karate kids want to fight me,” B says with a grin, “I’m not very popular.”

“Is that so?” Wammy asks and smiles down at his student when he adds, “Most of the time it is the less popular that get all the work done.”

He steps to the door and when he opens it, B catches a glimpse of an older boy with shaggy black hair and hunched posture waiting outside. He quickly registers the other student’s name floating over his head and realizes that he has seen him walk in the hallways and grounds of the orphanage in that tattered look of his, always alone.

Wammy nods at the boy waiting outside and silently closes the door behind him.

B gets up from the floor and goes to his room to remove A’s birthday present from his travel backpack. It’s a video wrapped in shiny red wrapping paper. He walks through the bathroom to his friend’s room and leaves the present on his desk.

“I’m so sorry A,” he whispers, “we’ll talk, I promise.”

Japan was an experience that B would never forget. After only one week, his Japanese had improved so much that nobody treated him like a tourist gaijin. His fellow school mates weren’t so lucky and in many places they would stand out like a sore thumb and B would fade into the background and go exploring on his own. He only wished he could share his experiences with A.

In Sapporo, Hokkaido, on his friend’s birthday, B bought a strawberry cupcake, Aiden’s favourite dessert from a small pastry shop and in the privacy of his small hotel room, which he thankfully had to his own, he ate the cupcake and spent the remainder of the day locked inside, crying and jerking off to the memory of Aiden’s soft kisses, his sparkling green eyes and moans of pleasure.

The two months flew by in a rush of impressions and experiences and B couldn’t wait to get back to Wammy’s to share it all with his room-mate, but also dreading the encounter, fearing what it might do to their friendship. Had the kissing changed anything? Would the eyes scare Aiden away for good? How to even begin explaining them, without sounding like some kind of delusional psycho?

All these questions and worries are running through his head as B enters his suite in Wammy’s House. He drops the heavy travel backpack on the floor and massages his left shoulder wincing in pain. He had fallen asleep on the flight over in an odd position and now he was sore as fuck, he stank of rank airplane air and couldn’t wait to get his ass in the shower and fall dead on his bed for a good long nap.

B stops massaging his shoulder and stares at A’s bedroom door, it is open. Who the fuck would dare intrude on his friend’s privacy like this? Aiden wasn’t supposed to be back until tomorrow night. With a few angry strides B is at the door. He’s had a shitty trip and he is in a terrible mood, whoever is in that room is going to have to play the part of punching ball for the full brunt of his crappy attitude.

“The fuck are you doing in here?” He growls.

There is a tall, short haired man standing by A’s desk. He is holding the present B had left there and it looks like he was about to rip the wrapping paper off.

“Drop that, you motherfucker,” B says and takes a step into the room, “that is not for you!”

The man looks up with a flash of green eyes and a big smile.

“Nice to see you too, Bee,” he says.

B stops like he hit a glass wall and stares.

“A…” he says in awe, “is that you?”

Aiden laughs when he sees his friend’s utter look of confusion, so much like the one he had when A pulled that judo trick on him two months ago.

“But,… What? How?” B says.

“I finally had a growth spurt. In France of all places, can you believe it? I thought Monsieur Toussaint was going to pop a brain vessel when he had to go clothes shopping with me. The poor man was so awkward, you know how he is,” A says, “it was hilarious.”

B steps towards Aiden and reaches out to touch his hair.

“Your hair,” he whispers, “what did you do?”

“I got tired of the other assholes calling me Prince Valiant and got it cut on my birthday,” A says and turns his face into B’s hand, “no more bangs make me look older. Don’t you think? Guess now you’re the one who’ll have to grow it out. Looks like you’re off to a good start.”

A reaches out and pulls gently at a long strand of B’s hair that falls on the side of his face and tucks it gently behind his ear. He then leaves his hand on his friend’s face.

The two teenagers stare into each other’s eyes, each touching the face of the other with one hand. 

B is mesmerized. Aiden looks so different. He is almost as tall as I am, he thinks and notices that his friend looks thinner and tired. 

“Aren’t you supposed to get back tomorrow?” B asks, sinking into those green eyes.

“There is an airline strike tomorrow, so they moved us up to today,” A answers in a whisper, his eyes never leaving B’s.

“I see,” B whispers and takes another step forward, pushing A into the desk and pressing his body against him. 

Aiden’s cheeks flush red as he whispers, “I actually walked in a few minutes…”

B silences him by pressing his lips against A’s, never looking away from those eyes. He sees A’s eyelashes flutter. B’s tongue flicks over A’s lips and he tastes strawberry lip-balm. Tentatively, he prods A’s lips open and encounters A’s eager tongue searching for his. 

B slowly moves his right hand under A’s shirt and gently caresses up his chest.

A moan escapes from Aiden’s mouth into his and B’s mind jumps gears. He presses harder against Aiden’s body and starts rubbing his hips against the younger man’s feeling the friction of both their hard-ons through their pants.  
B growls with need as he kisses Aiden harder.

He feels Aiden’s body shake with fright and catches a look of uncertainty in his green eyes.

B breaks the kiss, leans his forehead on A’s shoulder and gasps for breath. He rests his hands on Aiden’s hips and pulls his body away.

“Fuck,” he whispers, “I’m sorry.”

“Bee,” Aiden says and strokes B’S hair, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I ambushed you in the gym and I understand that you were upset.”

B looks up at him and blinks.

“Upset? I wasn’t upset,” he says.

“But you stopped me, you pushed me away and I thought,… well,…” Aiden smiles sadly, “I thought you were disgusted by me.”

“Are you fucking kidding me right now?” B says and steps back to let A have a good look at him, “Look at my fucking hard-on, man!”

Aiden looks down and sees a big bulge in B’s pants.

“Yeah, I have one of those too,” he says with a smirk and tries to readjust the front of his pants.

Suddenly the absurdity of the situation dawns on them both and they start laughing. B flops on A’s bed, overcome with giggles. A sits on the bed, next to him and wipes a tear from his cheek that the laughter had pushed out of him.

“You know,” Aiden says, suddenly serious, “I think I have always had a crush on you.”

“Really?” B asks, looking up at his friend.

“Yeah,… don’t ask me why, it’s not like you’re a runner-up for a congeniality contest, “ Aiden says.

“True,” B agrees, “I’m the first to admit that I am a huge asshole. I really don’t know what you see in me.” He pokes A. “I’m just that handsome, I guess,” he says with a devilish grin.

“Oh shut up, you idiot,” Aiden says and pokes him back.

“Who are you calling an idiot, you little turd?” B says and sits up to poke A in the chest.

“Not so little anymore, am I?” A says and looks down at his crotch.

“Oh my god!” B yells, “You did NOT just make a dirty joke!”

He falls back on the bed, laughing.

“France did you good man,” he says between giggles.

“Yeah, we have to swap stories. I want to hear all about Japan and your root-searching,” A says, smiling down at B.

“Oh, I brought you a little something from there. A maneki-neko, you know, the waving cat things? It’s somewhere in that fucking backpack. That thing is heavy man. I’ll look for it later.” He blinks up at A, “talking of which, open your birthday present!”

Aiden looks at the wrapped present. He had been holding onto it all this time and didn’t even notice. He tears at the paper and B jumps back up to sit next to him.

“No,… dude,” Aiden says and holds up a VCR video, “the Use Your Illusion tour? Holy crapper! Thank you so much!”

“You are most welcome,” B says and bows a little, “happy belated birthday, by the way.”

“Thank you so much Bee, this is awesome,” A says and his eyes sparkle at B.

“Well,…” B says and points with his thumb behind him at a poster that A has hanging over his bed, “I always thought you had a crush on this guy.”

Aiden turns to look at his poster of Axl Rose, wearing only low hanging jeans, his torso and tattoos displayed in a flattering black and white photograph. He looks at B and at Axl and back at B.

“Wehellllll,….” Aiden says, “it’s a close call.”

“You can’t be fucking serious right now,” B says and frowns at the poster.

“You knowwww,…,” Aiden says and pulls gently at B’s hair, “if you let your hair grow out like his, you would definitely win.”

“Nah,” B says and grins at Aiden, “I’ll grow it longer and then you’ll only have eyes for me and Axl can go suck goat dick.”

“Goat dick?” Aiden asks and laughs, “Where on earth do you get those images from?”

B shrugs and grins wider.

“Listen, I’m going to take a quick shower, I feel gross,” B says, “and after, what do you say we harass Madame Duvernay for some snacks, throw in that video and I watch you drool over Mr. Rose here while I stuff my face with anything greasy and unhealthy that magical woman can bestow upon us.”

Aiden nods. 

“Sounds like a plan,” he says.

B jumps up and goes to the suite’s common room to retrieve his backpack. When he turns to his bedroom, he sees Aiden looking at him, leaning on the doorframe to his room and twisting the red wrapping paper in his hands.

“And then Bee,” he says quietly, “you’ll tell me how you knew my name.”

*** *** ***

BB takes one last whiff from the lock of hair and carefully places it back into the envelope.

“I should have never told you,” he whispers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the poster:


	14. Lunar Reflections

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A cold moon on a winter night can't answer L's questions.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for mentioning child abuse and rape.
> 
> See end notes for translation of the japanese words.

It’s past midnight, no lights are on in L’s apartment. The growing moon, not quite full yet, hangs like a wobbly looking silver marble in the winter night sky. Its soft white beams illuminate the room through the balcony’s glass doors. They are open. Footprints in the snow lead to the young detective, who is standing by the balustrade, barefoot. He has his hands tucked into the pockets of his faded jeans, no hunch in his shoulders. He stands straight, his face turned towards the moon, his eyes wide open. The milky light of the moon shines in his dark grey eyes, giving them a silver sheen. The rim of his pants and his feet are soaked, but he doesn’t care. He welcomes the cold as an old friend. A friend he hates and loves. 

“Cold is the burden of the poor,” he says to the moon, “that and hunger are the tools of the powerful with which they build their empires on the bent backs of those who have nothing. I had nothing,… and now I have everything. Every comfort at the tip of my fingers,…”

He raises his right hand up to the moon, and watches his pale skin go even whiter under its lunar shimmer.

“The irony isn’t lost on me,” L says as he sinks his arm and tucks his hand back into a pocket, “but you don’t care, do you? Cold, beautiful and unforgiving you watch us simple mortals strive day, after day, to just survive on this dreadful earth. We forget how precious life is, how fragile our existence and before we know it, it is taken from us.”

A melancholy smile appears on the young man’s face.

“But as we both know, there are worse things than death.”

Was he as cold and unforgiving as the pale moon in the sky? He was sure that was how BB saw him. He had seen the look on his successor’s face when he was invited into L’s sanctum. There had definitely been resentment there. Just like the moon, L was sitting up here, separated from everyone else, never interfering, never letting anyone get close. Never again. 

He remembers Wammy’s words from this morning, “If only you had…”

Had what? Socialized with his successors? Given a flying fuck about their mental health? Shown just a little support? A little comfort?

It wouldn’t have changed anything. Aiden would still have died.

He can’t save everybody. He couldn’t save Jack, Giano, Suzy, Hiromi and little Natalia and so many others. Natalia was the youngest, only four. He had insisted on seeing her body, he wanted the image of her mutilated body to imprint itself in his brain, so that he would never forget. The list of her injuries and her dead brown eyes haunted his dreams. But so did so many others. His own tortured past and the fates of the children he couldn’t save had turned into a tumor of the mind that grew and gnawed at his sanity. It got worse during the cold winter months, which always brought such sick nostalgia.

He remembers the shabby two room apartment in Berlin where he lived the first few years of his life. He was forbidden from entering his mother’s room and he slept on an old sofa, covering under an unwashed, torn blanket. One time, on a really cold night, he had opened the oven, turned it on and had slept on the floor in front of it. The beating and hair pulling he woke up to the next day were so severe that he never pulled that stunt again. He was sure she was really going to kill him that time.

“Sachiko Lawliet,” he told the uncaring moon, “child of good fortune, is what her name means. I bet the irony wasn’t lost on her either.”

His mother had been a teenage run-away that had ended up having to sell her body to survive. A downward spiral of drugs and abuse had ended up being the death of her and that was when Heinrich Hahn, her pimp, had sold her only son to the Japanese mafia.

He didn’t know she had died until he turned ten, which is when the kids at Wammy’s House are asked if they want to look at their files. Only few refuse. There is an innate yearning in almost all orphaned or abandoned children to know why they are alone and to find out where they come from, who their people are. Quillsh Wammy understood that need for answers and collected all the information he could find on the young people in his care. 

In his file, L had read about his mother’s death. Her parents, a British diplomat and his Japanese wife, had shown no interest in recovering her body and she was cremated and buried in an anonymous burial ground in Berlin. He had never visited her grave.

Apparently, after Wammy and Roger had saved L from Tokyo, his grandparents were notified of his existence. His grandfather was a big deal in government and didn’t want the scandal of his prostitute daughter and her illegitimate son, who was doing god knows what all these years and was probably a young criminal himself, to ruin his political career. They didn’t want him and so L had stayed a Wammy Kid.

The only information on his father was what Wammy had been able to scrape together after personally questioning some of the women who used to work with his mother. There weren’t many around who still remembered her by then and the information he was able to gather wasn’t the most reliable.

The story went that, shortly after running away from home, naive Sachiko had taken up the offer to go to a man’s place for food. He had raped her and left her for dead in a ditch by the river Spree, where she was found by some ladies of the night who took her in.

“You saw her there, didn’t you, you cold hearted bitch?” L asks the moon “Sixteen, raped and pregnant with me,… a freak of nature. She resented me for something that wasn’t my fault, a reminder of the man who hurt her. She hated me…”

L lowers his gaze from the moon and his eyes rest of the forest of the Wammy estate. 

“Okaasan,… gomen nasai,” L whispers.

Slowly he falls to his knees, grabbing onto the handrail for support, his hands sink into the snow that rests on it. He leans his head against its cold metal and watches his foggy breath as it escapes his body. All the warmth he has inside dissipating from him.

“Why couldn’t you love me?”

How many times had he asked himself that question? How many times had the only answer to a pleading look from her son, been a slap in the face or a painful tug of his hair?

He is undeserving of love, or at least that is what he thought until he met,…

“Nii-san,…” L’s breath hitches in his chest.

A sudden gust of wind brushes over L, unsettling the snow and converting it into tiny fragments of fallen stars that glitter in the moonlight.

“Eru-kun,…” 

L pulls himself up, almost slipping and heading headfirst over the balcony.

“What?” He says, looking around, shivering. His eyes wide with shock as he turns his head.

“Nii-san?” L asks.

The wind doesn’t answer and the moon goes out as a stray cloud covers its face.

He feels the cold seeping into his bones as the darkness closes in on him.

Silence.

The cloud moves on and the pale lunar beams shine on an empty balcony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> okaasan = mother  
> gomen nasai = I am sorry  
> nii-san = big brother; used for older males who have a position of older brother to someone, but is not necessarily a blood relation  
> Eru-kun = 'Eru' is the japanese pronounciation of L and 'kun' is a honorific applied to younger males


	15. Day Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB makes a discovery.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A comment to the previous chapter asked if L and Light are siblings in this and I thought they were refering to the nii-san thing. Took me a day or two for the duh-moment to hit me square in the face.  
> Stupid me gave L's mother the same name as Light's mother.  
> *epic facepalm*  
> I swear it was just a coincidence. I needed a female name for 'good fortune' and Sachiko fit the bill.  
> They are not the same person in this fic. L's mother is definitely dead.  
> Thanks to the commenter. <3
> 
> Warnings for some light NSFW stuff, bodily harm, psycho stuff, ... the usual.
> 
> Translation in the end notes.

The first thing BB notices when he opens the door to L’s penthouse, is the cold. He feels a waft of cool air on his face and looks towards the back of the lounge. The glass door to the balcony is wide open. Even in the black turtle-neck sweater he is wearing, he can feel the chill leaving goosebumps on his skin.

“What the hell?” He says.

He tucks the book and notebook he had brought with him under his right arm and walks to the far wall, stepping around the coffee-table and the couch. The wind stings his face when he gets closer to the balcony and it whips his long hair into his eyes. This is starting to piss him off. 

When he reaches the door, he can see drifts of snow on the floor, some of it melting due to the floor heating and creating what looks like a miniature glacial landscape from the top. BB curses himself for only wearing socks and gingerly steps around on tiptoes, trying to not step into the cold slush on the floor. Leaning forward, he pushes on the door until it is almost closed and takes one step forward to push down the handle and shut the winter out, which of course means that he stepped into the slush.

“Fuck!” He says under his breath.

He is starting to get a very uncomfortable, cold and wet feeling between his toes.

“Great,” he growls through his teeth, “just great.”

He hobbles over to L’s armchair, drops the things he brought with him into it and leaning with one hand on the backrest he bends forward and takes off his socks. Sighing in annoyance, he decides to leave them on the floor for now, until he can get this mess cleaned up.

Where the hell is that goddamn detective and what the fuck was he thinking leaving the door open like that?

BB straightens and looks around the room, puzzled. His eyes pass over the love-seat and he does a double take, stares back at it and sees L’s body, huddled in a fetal position on his side. In two quick strides BB is by the couch. He reaches out a hand to touch L’s shoulder and shakes him a little, but the detective only curls up tighter and mumbles something intelligible in his sleep.

He takes a good hard look at the young detective, whose mouth is breathing air in short, shallow breaths. BB doubts he’ll die of hypothermia, the worst that could happen is that this idiots gets sick from sleeping this exposed. The room is as cold as it is outside and he has no idea how long L has been lying there. He could catch a fever and be bed-bound for the remainder of the week and BB’s revenge could get snuffed before it has even gotten started. 

With his left hand BB pushes back L’s shaggy bangs to the side and touches the detective’s forehead. It feels cold, no fever, at least not yet. He runs his fingers over L’s skin, whose complexion has gotten even paler from the cold. He traces the visible blue lines of L’s veins over his cheek.

“Flawless,” BB whispers, “like a porcelain doll… or a dead body.”

As he runs his fingers over L’s jaw, he wonders what that cold, white skin would look like if marred by a bruise. He is sure it would shine gloriously in pretty purple blotches, like petals of a flower opening to the sun.

BB feels the heat in his groin growing at the thought.

His index finger gently moves over L’s Adam’s apple and his hand twitches with the urge to choke the detective’s neck, to see the pupils in his grey eyes shrink to tiny dots as his lungs constrict for air.

He is breathing harder from the burning need that is spreading through his body. His lips curl up with a snarl and he falls to his knees, his long black hair covering L’s shoulders as BB leans towards the detective’s exposed neck.

He wants to bite into the thin skin, to feel its fragile membrane break open under his teeth, to release a small ruby river that’ll run down the snow white curve of L’s collarbones.

Gawd, the need.

BB’s left hand moves to rest behind L’s neck and his right one finds its way under the detective’s white long-sleeved shirt and runs up the soft, cold skin of his lower back.

L’s body shivers in his sleep.

“Nii-san,” he says and a little moan escapes his lips.

BB freezes.

He waits to see if L will wake up, but it looks like the cold has plunged him into a deep sleep and he won’t be roused anytime soon.

Carefully, BB removes his hands from L’s body. He raises from his kneeled position and stretches his back, his head thrown back, to stare at the wooden beams of the ceiling.

What is this? He has only gone one day without the meds and already he is losing control. 

Fuck!

He covers his face with his hands and exhales in a groaning sigh.

He hears a moan and looks down to see that L’s body is shivering.

Crap, he won’t be getting hypothermia after all?

BB bends back down and shakes L’s shoulder, harder this time, but to no avail.

“Come on, asshole, wake up!”

Nothing.

“Fuck!”

Maybe he underestimated this. What if L had been lying like this all night? 

BB looks around the room. He doesn’t know where the other two doors lead to and opens one at random, where he finds L’s spacious bedroom. Half the floor of the room is covered in tatami mats. That section is separated from the rest of the room by a beautiful Japanese room divider. When he steps behind it, he finds L’s bed, a wide futon on a black wooden frame with short legs. He grabs a thick blanket from it and rushes back into the lounge.

He throws the blanket on top of L’s unconscious body and makes sure to tuck it tightly around his feet and shoulders.

“I can’t believe I am doing this shit,” BB mumbles to himself.

That leaves the other door, which must be the bathroom, he figures. 

When he goes to check, he is relieved to find an oval shaped bathtub in there. He opens the faucet and when he has the water at a good temperature, not too hot or it’ll shock L’s body, he plugs the drain and goes back to the couch. He kneels down to get his arms under L and when he lifts him, he is surprised when the detective is much lighter than he thought.

“I can NOT believe I am doing this shit,” he says again.

L’s head rests on BB’s chest, his hair tickling his chin, as he carries the unconscious detective to the bathroom.

After kicking the bathroom door shut behind him, to keep the cold in the lounge from getting in, BB carefully sinks L to the floor. He lays out the blanket from the futon and lifts the detective’s body again to lay him on top.

A quick glance into the tub reveals that the water hasn’t risen too far yet.

L is shivering harder now, almost shaking and BB sees that his eyes are moving frantically behind his closed eyelids, his mouth is partially open and he is breathing harder now, his chest heaving.

As BB watches him, L’s features go softer, his hair blends into an auburn shade, tiny patterns of freckles appear on his nose and cheeks.

“Aiden,…?”

BB blinks and the vision reverts back to L’s pale complexion and raven black hair.

“Get a fucking grip, Beyond!” He scolds himself.

He knows he’ll have to undress L if he wants to get him into the bathtub. The thought both unnerves and excites him.

“Nothing for it.”

When BB pulls L’s jeans off, he notices that they are stiff from the cold. He probably got them wet outside and the fabric of the pants froze. He also pulls down L’s underwear with it, revealing a thin line of black hair that runs from the detective’s navel to turn into a light fuzz of pubic hair at the bottom. L’s hipbones stick out sharply from his thin waist, reminding BB of Aiden’s body and he shakes his head to push away the image of his lover’s hips dancing on top of him.

“For fuck’s sake!”

Next, he has to tackle the shirt.

“Great.”

BB takes one of L’s wrist and pushing at the sleeve from the inside he is able to release the arm from it.

“What…”

Hurriedly, BB does the same to the other arm.

“… the fuck?”

There are small, round scars on the inside of L’s arms. They look old, but still have a bright redness to them.

Is he imagining this too?

BB runs his thumb over one of them and feels the wrinkly, bumpy sensation of healed skin. 

No, this shit is real.

Pushing the shirt over L’s head, he also discovers a nasty looking scar that runs along L’s side, over his right ribs, to his back. When BB lifts L’s torso to look at how far back the scar wraps, his eyes widen at the sight of criss-crossed lashes on the detective’s back. These look almost fresh.

“What the hell, L?”

And there, on the skin over the left shoulder blade, a monster.

Round ogling eyes with red irises staring from a fanged face, curved horns, a body wrapped in black and grey tatters of cloth, sharp claws and dark feathery wings.

Part of the successors’ special curriculum was a class in organized crime.

BB knew a yakuza tattoo when he saw one.

In a split-second all of BB’s mental archives on symbols of the Japanese mafia flash before his inner eye. Image after image rushes by, dragons, samurai, akuma, spirits, but nothing like this.

What does it mean?

The sound of water rushes in his ears and BB’s focus narrows. Everything around him blurs and the rushing between his ears is like thundering pressure behind his eyes. He stares at the red orbs on the monsters face. His hands, holding L’s torso upright, start shaking. Everything goes dark except for those two blood-shot eyes that shine in an eerie red glow.

L gives off a sudden shudder and his whole body goes still, too still.

BB blinks away the darkness.

“Fuck, fuck fuck!”

Supporting the detective’s body with one arm, BB reaches over to turn off the faucet.

L had stopped breathing in those tiny gasps of his and for a moment BB thinks he is holding a dead body in his arms. But he sees the detective’s chest rise and fall.

With a grunt, BB lifts L from the floor and slowly sinks him into the warm water of the bathtub, getting his sleeves wet in the process. As soon as he releases L, his body flumps forward and BB has to support him with an arm to stop him from drowning himself.

“Come on, come on, you bastard.”

BB grabs a shower sponge that was lying next to bottles of shampoo and shower gel on the tub’s border and he starts scrubbing L’s arms, torso and legs to get his circulation going. 

“Don’t you fucking die on me now, you son of a bitch!”

L’s eyelids flutter.

BB gives his cheeks a few gentle slaps.

“L, come on. Wake up, L.”

L takes a deep breath.

“Nii-san? Koko wa… “ he mumbles.

His eyes open and he focuses on BB’s face.

Suddenly his eyes open wide and his whole body jumps, splashing water everywhere. L’s arms raise to push away from his successor and BB falls back just in time to avoid getting pushed hard on the chest.

“Don’t touch me!” L yells.

L blinks in confusion. He stares at BB, at the blanket and clothes on the floor, at the water he is sitting in.

“What…?” He says.

“Welcome back asshole,” BB says and gets up from the floor.

“BB, what happened?” L asks.

“That is what I would like to know,” BB answers, “that and a few other things.”

L pulls up his knees to his chest and hugs them close to his chest.

“You saw,” he whispers.

BB nods.

“I’m going to get changed,” he says, looking down at his wet clothes, “and I’ll be waiting in my room.”

He then turns around and exists the bathroom.

L leans his forehead on his knees.

“Shit,” he says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> akuma = monster, demons
> 
> L says, "Koko wa..."  
> The full sentence is "koko wa doko" ( ここはどこ ) which basically means: "Where am I?"


	16. Eyes of a Caged Tiger

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB is in his room, wondering about the power of his eyes and he remembers when he told A about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I think I am going to stop warning people of the language or violence ahead.  
> If you have come this far, you know what's in store, aaaand it's going to get a lot worse before anything gets better. If it gets better at all.
> 
> Thank you all for reading, for the kudos, the silent support. <3

BB had changed into a fresh pair of black jeans and a burgundy red turtle-neck sweater, had dried and braided his hair and was sitting on his bed, tying on his sneakers. He knows that it was going to take L some time to show up. The detective probably had tingly feet and hands from having his warm blood circulating in his extremities again. Plus, knowing him, he was probably brooding and trying to come up with a plan and a story of constructed lies to explain the frigging tattoo and the scars on his body.

When both shoes are tied, he looks up, at the fractured mirror on the wardrobe. His face looks like a cubist painting.

“Picasso, Portrait of a Man,” He says and chuckles.

But when his gaze moves further up, to the broken red letters that he can see floating over his head, he closes his mouth in a rigid line.

No numbers.

He had seen them floating over L’s head, but they had started to blur and change suddenly.

He had only ever seen them react that way when Aiden,…

Leaning his elbows on his knees, BB holds his head with both hands and tries to concentrate.

According to L’s numbers, the asshole was supposed to have another seventy-two years of his life-span and he remembers that Aiden had sixty. But there were times, when Aiden’s numbers had gone crazy, had blurred and rushed down and BB had seen the years ticking away. He had seen the same thing happen to L on the bathroom floor, but by the time BB had left, they had jumped back to their original count-down.

He had thought that with Aiden it had been his own fear that made the numbers seem like they were subtracting years off his lover’s life-span, that in his over-protectiveness he was seeing things,… but now?

What does this mean?

Was a person’s time not set in stone? Could outside influences change things?

His nails dig into his scalp.

Was he the outside influence that had shortened Aiden’s life? 

“Oh god,” he whispers.

*** *** ***

“Oh god,” Aiden whispers.

He is sitting on one of the couches in their common room, facing BB, who is sitting on the other one, elbows resting on his knees, hunched forward, his chin almost touching his chest. 

“You see everyone’s name?”

BB nods.

“And these numbers… they’re like a sort of countdown?”

“Yeah,…” BB says.

Aiden gets up and takes two steps forward to stand right in front of BB, who stares at the young man’s socked feet.

“Why are you making this shit up?” Aiden’s voice quivers in anger and BB looks up at him, “You must think I am a fucking idiot. I thought you trusted me, I thought that we were friends, that we were,…” his voice chokes in a sob.

“I am not lying,” BB says and his eyes never waver from Aiden’s, “your name is Aiden Ahearn.”

Aiden slaps BB so hard that he is thrown back against the couch.

“Don’t you dare Bee, don’t you fucking dare,” Aiden says between sobs. Tears are running down his face and his shoulders are shaking with contained anger.

BB jumps up and Aiden takes a step back.

“Aiden, listen to me for fuck’s sake!” BB says through clenched teeth, his cheek burns like hell, he knows he’ll feel it stinging for days. 

He feels a knot of fear starting to burn in his stomach.

“It is the truth, please, I swear it is! Why would I make this up?” 

BB reaches his hand forward to touch Aiden on the arm, but the younger man flinches away and a pinch of pain constricts BB’s heart.

“You broke into Mister Wammy’s vault, didn’t you?” Aiden says, “You found my file. You read my information. You not only broke my trust, but also everything this place stands for! You disgust me!”

Aiden turns away to go to his room, but BB grabs his arm to hold him back.

“Let me go!” Aiden yells and rushes forward to push BB away, but instead of pulling back, BB steps to the side and trips Aiden’s right leg. The younger man falls on the couch and before he can react, BB has pinned his arm behind his back and falls down to kneel behind him, keeping his friend’s legs closed tightly between his own. BB pushes his torso on Aiden’s bent body and talks into his ear, “Listen, please just listen.”

Aiden tries to push himself off the couch, back into BB, but when he feels that his room-mate is putting more pressure on his twisted arm, he groans in pain and stays still.

“Please A, I don’t want to hurt you. Just listen to me, please,” BB says pleadingly, “think about it for a minute, will you? There is a reason why you are Alpha and I am just Beta, you are better at dissecting data for the really relevant information, you see through bullshit so much quicker than I ever have.”

“Alright, alright,” Aiden says, “I’ll listen, but you have to let me go.”

BB releases his hold on Aiden and sinks backwards, to sit cross legged on the floor. He watches the other boy carefully, ready to jump up and tackle him again if he makes a run for it, but Aiden just flops around to sit on the floor too, his back leaning against the couch. He massages his right shoulder and grimaces in pain.

“Sorry about that,” BB says and smiles apologetically.

Aiden looks at him with red-rimmed eyes and as he wipes tears from his face with the back of his hand, he says, “You have two minutes, Bee.” 

“Right,… “ BB sits quietly for a few seconds, thinking.

“Tick tock, Bee,” Aiden says.

“Yeah, fuck, don’t rush me. Ok, ok,… think about it, why would I make this up? What would I gain from inventing some crazy plot about a pair of magical eyes? If I were lying to you, don’t you think I would have come up with a better, more plausible story? Something more believable to make sure that you swallow it hook, line and sinker? And if, as you said, I had broken into Wammy’s vault, why would I hide it from you? You know you are my only friend on this fucking world, if I was to do something that stupid, don’t you think I would have done it with you?”

“Alright, Bee,” Aiden says, “let’s assume I believe you, just for the sake of the argument. How did you get this super-sight?”

“I,… I don’t know. I’ve always had it. At least I think I have.”

“You’re so full of shit. Your two minutes are up,” Aiden says and raises from the floor.

BB’s knot of fear burns a bright red. He can’t lose Aiden, not now, not after they had just started on this new thing between them. Why won’t he understand?

BB jumps up and follows Aiden to his room.

“Get out Bee,” Aiden says and turns around to shoo the older boy away.

“Something is wrong,” BB whispers and his eyes are locked on the numbers over his friend’s head, “your numbers,… they are all wrong.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Your numbers, A,” BB says, eyes wide in shock, “they are rushing down.”

Aiden steps back as BB comes closer. “Bee, get out!” He says.

BB grabs Aiden by the arms and stares at the blurring numbers.

And Aiden sees it.

“Oh my god Bee,” he says in awe, “your eyes, they are red.”

BB tears his gaze from the numbers and looks into Aiden’s eyes, where he sees a light of understanding dawning, but also a terror deep inside the green swirls of his irises.

“How?” Aiden asks.

“I don’t know,… I really don’t. I wish I had more information.”

*** *** ***

He needs more information.

L,… the tattoo on his back. The eyes on that creature,…

“What are you hiding Lawliet? What do you know?”

Does this change anything? Should he put his plan on hold?

“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!”

BB jumps up from the bed and starts pacing in his room, like a caged tiger, his long braid whipping at every turn. 

He needs answers, and one way or another, he’ll get them out of that fucking bastard.

He stops, in the middle of the room, his hand fisted tightly, remembering L curled up on the couch, L’s soft skin, his own dark fingers in such stark contrast over the detective’s marble complexion.

Aiden and L couldn’t be more different, but there was something about the detective that reminded him so much of his lover. When L had looked up during his panic attack and had asked why, with that look of pure hurt in his eyes, BB had hugged L close to his chest, instead of punching him as he had originally wanted. He remembers seeing that same hurt in Aiden’s eyes, that same plea for help and had been unable to resist.

And earlier, the lust he felt when he had found L unconscious. He could tell himself that it was only his thirst for revenge that stirred a need to touch, choke and bite the detective, but… was it?

BB moves his braid over his shoulder, to the front, wraps it around his hand and pulls it hard. 

“Shit!”

He remembers that L had smelled sweet, like cinnamon and lemons and his breath had smelled of strawberry jam, he wonders if his lips tasted of it too, like Aiden’s lip balm…

“Shit!”

BB pulls his braid harder.

L’s hair had felt so soft when it tickled his chin. Touching it must be like sinking your hand into a cloud of feathers. 

“Shit!”

The pain from his scalp is bringing tears to his eyes.

He wonders if L’s face flushes during sex, if he moans or sighs and what that might sound like. If he’s good at…

“Argh!”

BB flips the braid back over his shoulder and starts pacing again. 

Wait, there’s a thought…

BB stops by the desk and looks down at the zippo. He had left it there when he had to change earlier. He stares at the elaborate detail of the curly letter A that was engraved into it.

… who says he can’t have both?

He picks up the lighter, flicks it open and a small flame ignites from it.

Revenge made sweeter by making L’s mind _and_ body break.

A wicked grin appears on BB’s face, splitting his face into a distorted visage of madness, the zippo’s light reflecting on the red, shiny surface of the young man’s eyes.

“Oh, this will be fun.”


	17. Eyes of a Monster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L makes a discovery of his own, when he leaves the bathtub and remembers a childhood friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for the horrible thing that you are about to read, but there is something good-ish at the end.
> 
> I'm putting translations here, they won't spoil anything:  
> Hör zu Kleiner = German for 'listen little one'  
> Masutā = is the English word 'master', just one of many examples of a foreign word adopted into the Japanese language  
> Kuroaus-kun = Japanese pronounciation of the name Klaus, plus honorific

Supporting himself with one hand on the wall, L raises from the bathtub and looks down at the small twirl of water as it disappears down the drain. He had scrubbed himself with the sponge to wake his numbed body from the cold hold of a night in the freezing winter air and his legs and arms were red from the repeated rubbing. His feet had fallen asleep and he had no sensation in them for the longest time. They still felt tingly and he didn’t quite trust them yet to hold his weight. He felt a little dizzy too, so he stood there, watching the tepid water disappear and gave himself a moment before lifting his right leg over the tub’s frame and carefully setting in down on the wet, tiled floor.

So far, so good.

The other leg is next and L carefully walks to the sink, holds onto it with both hands, closes his eyes and concentrates on breathing evenly.

What a major fuck-up.

He opens his eyes and watches as tiny water-drops from his wet hair plop into the sink.

What is he going to do now?

He looks up at the fogged mirror and with his right hand wipes at it, leaving a curved spot of clear glass into which he can have a good look at his face. His hair is flattened against his skull and the long bangs stick to his forehead, leaving rivulets of water that run down his cheeks like tears.

He has had to do a few inappropriate and clandestine things in the past, to solve some of his hardest cases, but he doubts that he can use any of his old tricks to get out of this one.

His eyes get a cold, hard shimmer to them, the grey darkening to a deep black that holds a heartless, impassive depth of calm, yet heinous pit of pure, calculated wit.

“There you are,” he says to his reflection.

The monster he has had to become to survive.

*** *** ***

“Hör zu Kleiner,” the blond man says to L as he clicks the seat’s safety belt in place. He has to pull a lot of the slack through the metallic buckle to make sure that the kid’s tiny frame is secured firmly. “The sooner you get used to your situation, the better, trust me.”

L has his head turned to the right and is looking out the private jet’s window, his eyes wide and staring. His back hurt from where Hahn had kicked him and he was sore… down there.

He had woken up on the bed in the shabby flat, to a smell of blood and a cold feeling between his buttocks, the blond man with the big sun-glasses had been cleaning him with wet wipes and L had turned around, snarling like a wild animal, ready to scratch his face off, but he had been groggy and sore and Klaus, he remembers the man’s name, had an easy time constraining him.

The fat man had been standing in the door frame, laughing.

“He’s a feisty one, isn’t he?” He had said in Japanese and had instructed Klaus to bring ‘the new one’, as he called him, to the hangar, clean and ready for the trip.

“Ja Boss,” Klaus had replied and when the fat man had left, he lifted a struggling L at eye level and said in a cold tone, “We can do this the easy or the hard way, kid. I need to strip you down and clean you and I’d rather not have to resort to violence to do so. Hahn said you were a clever little bugger, so I think that you understand what that means.”

L had nodded, sniffed and had blinked through the tears that were stinging his eyes.

Klaus had wiped him down and had dressed him in new clothes. L couldn’t really remember the details of what happened afterwards, it was all a haze, but next thing he knew, he was sitting in a plane with the fat man sitting right next to him. At first L felt invisible, he cuddled as close to the window as he could and as far away from his tormentor as was possible and tried to understand what was happening to him. But about an hour after the jet had taken off, the fat man turns to him and says in Japanese, “You will call me Masutā.”

When L doesn’t react, he feels the man’s chubby fingers digging into his jaw, forcing his face to turn and look at him, making L wince in pain.

“Do you understand me?” He asks.

L grabs the man’s arm and trying to pull his hand away, scratches the wrist of the hand that was holding him. Next thing he knows, his head hits the airplane wall to his right and there is a ringing in his ears. L moves his hand to his left cheek and feels a hot, burning pain on his skin.  


“Kuroaus-kun!” The fat man yells and L sees the German kneel in front of him.

L pulls up his legs on the seat and pushes his back against the backrest, trying to get away from the two men. Klaus, who still has those over-sized sunglasses on, is smoking and he blows grey cigarette smoke in L’s face. L coughs and to stop the smoke from stinging his eyes he closes them. Klaus uses this opportunity to grab his right arm and pulls up the long sleeve of the sweater he had dressed the kid in earlier. L tries to pull away, but Klaus has a tight grip on his arm, the fat man is holding down the left one and he can’t move.

L sees his own reflection in Klaus’ sunglasses staring at him with wide, panicked eyes as the blond man takes the cigarette with his free hand and without hesitating for one second, presses the burning end of it into the inside of L’s arm. 

L screams and kicks out with his legs, but Klaus, anticipating this, moves out of the way, before the kid’s feet can kick him in the chest.

L can hear the fat man and others, sitting in the back, laughing and he growls in pain and anger. He tries to free himself from the safety belt. All he can think of is that he needs to get away and find a place to hide. But both men are back at restraining him and L hears the fat man say, “Again.”

L feels the cigarette burn into his arm and he screams, shaking his head from side to side, his eyes closed tight, tears flooding from his closed eyelids.

“Again.”

The smell of burnt flesh reaches L’s nose and he screams out in yet another anguished plea for Klaus to stop. 

It stings, it hurts, is all he can think now and he sobs, his small body shaking with pain and fear.

When he opens his eyes he sees the face of the fat man leering down at him, his chubby cheeks flushed in excitement, a drop of sweat glistening on his upper lip. 

“You’ll learn,” he says and runs his hand up L’s thigh, who is too hurt and scared to move, “and your beautiful screams will keep me happy for a long, long time.”

*** *** ***

L scratches the old scars on his right arm, his eyes still locked with the monster in the mirror. It had taken many lessons from Klaus’ cigarettes and plenty beatings for that small scrawny kid to learn that not obeying the master’s wishes had painful consequences. It had been the beginning of a three year long, torturous experience that had led to the birth of the cold, detached darkness that he saw reflected back at him.

The only redeeming thing, the only good, the only light of his time in Tokyo had been Nii-san.

But even that memory was too painful to linger on and he couldn’t let himself fall into the clutches of despair when he thought of Nii-san,…

L’s tears his gaze away from the mirror and closes his eyes with a sigh.

Nii-san whose smiles were always so sad, who would hold young L in his arms when the nightmares haunted his nights. Nii-san who would untangle the mess of L’s hair with his slender fingers with such tenderness that it would never hurt.

Kind of like BB had been untangling knots in his hair yesterday, running his fingers through the long black tresses after pulling them over his shoulder in such a graceful movement that was so much like the way Nii-san used to do it.

What?

L opens his eyes and pushes himself off the sink, stepping back and almost tripping over the blanket and his crumpled clothes on the floor.

No.

An image of BB’s mischievous smile flashes before his eyes.

L hunches forward and slaps his forehead with the palm of his right hand.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!”

Where are those thoughts coming from?

He looks up at the mirror, the patch he had swiped starting to get fogged up again and he catches a glimpse of a wicked smile.

“Oh fuck you!” L says and reaches to the left to grab a towel from a heated towel rack. He wraps the soft, warm fabric around his waist and turns around to leave the bathroom in a huff, almost tripping over the clothes again. He kicks at them out of spite before storming out.

There is no residue of winter chill in the lounge, the floor heating had done its job and the room is warm and cozy, but L doesn’t notice as he strides across to his bedroom and closes the door with a loud bang.

As he is getting dressed L remembers that he should try to reach Wammy. He misses his mentor and his insightful opinions, especially now, and wishes he could hear the old man’s voice calling him ‘my dear boy’ and that he could close his eyes, rest against Wammy’s knee and feel safe with the smell of his after-shave tickling his nose. Wammy was the closest thing L had to family and he felt the old man’s absence deeply. He was sure that he could clear his head and figure out what to do after talking to him.

When L exists his room, he goes into his office and dials the number of the hotel where Wammy and the kids are staying. Turns out that his mentor had been about to call him too. He is relieved to hear that L has recovered from yesterday’s episode and L doesn’t tell him about last night’s fiasco or the fact that his successor had to strip him and put him in a bath, like a helpless baby. No need to worry the old man. But they do have a long conversation over what happened two years ago. Wammy approaching the subject delicately, to avoid another dark mood to overcome L’s mind.

The more they talk, the quieter L gets.


	18. Doing Laundry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB has some time to kill.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglas Adams is a big favourite of mine.

By his inner clock, BB knows that it has only been about forty minutes since he left the penthouse. He figures it might take L at least another hour before showing up. 

BB has never been the most patient person and this waiting is grating on his nerves. He is eager to get his plan started, his fingers are itching to touch L’s skin and his mind is abuzz with the plan that is starting to come together in his head. He’s had to change quite a few of the ideas he had for this week, but seeing that tattoo on L’s back and realizing the burning need he feels for the detective’s body, he had no other choice. The important thing is to take it slow, if he jumps the gun too early everything will come undone and like a gust of wind blowing away a house of cards, his revenge will get destroyed, his need won’t get satiated and he will have nothing left.

He has to keep busy, before this waiting gets to him and he ruins everything.

BB looks around his room for something to do and his eyes pause on the hamper. It isn’t quite full yet, but his wet clothes will stink up the room if he doesn’t get them in the washer soon.

BB shrugs. Oh well,…

He picks up the hamper and leaves the suite.

On his way downstairs, BB hears the wind blowing against the old house. He stops at the window between the third and second floor to look outside and sees that it was snowing hard. Strong gusts of wind were blurring the snow into a grey mass of dancing dots. Seems like he saved L’s ass in the nick of time, if he hadn’t gone upstairs, the detective would still be unconscious on the couch and would have probably really frozen to death.

A wooden groan goes through the house and the lights flicker.

“Come on old lady,” BB says, “don’t tell me a silly little winter storm can shake you. You’re one ancient tough bitch, aren’t you?”

As if in answer a higher pitched groan shakes the building and BB chuckles.

“Yeah, yeah, keep complaining, you old broad.”

When BB reaches the main floor of the house, instead of taking a left turn towards where the dining room and the kitchen are, he goes right. He ignores the open double doors that lead to the common room, the library and the greenhouse that connects to the nursery and pushes open a door that reveals a dark staircase that leads to the cellar. BB turns on the light switch with his elbow and makes his way down.

He gets to a short corridor that ends on a sturdy looking wooden door that leads further down, to the wine cellar. Roger had an alarm system installed on it after some of the kids had repeatedly broken the lock. In a house where trust was written with a capital T, a locked door was like a shining beacon with a big, red, flashy sign saying ‘secrets here, please enter’. The alarm made zero difference, in fact it added to the challenge and made it that much more appealing for the gang of Wunderkind-Wammy-House-Brats to get in there. Mister Wammy was amused, Roger less so.

The only place that no one would ever dare breaking into was the cabin where the two old men lived. The cabin and the infamous vault that housed the family histories, names, photographs and other personal information of the orphanage’s inhabitants and those that had left Wammy’s House after graduation to pursue their own careers and widen Wammy’ contacts around the world.

Everyone, even the very young, understood the importance of keeping that place safe and in all its history as an orphanage, no one had ever broken that holiest of vows and it had remained safe from meddling kids with a knack for breaking locks.

To his left is a metal grate behind which are the boilers, heating system and fuse boxes of the house. To his right two doors, the second one is where cleaning supplies are stored and the first one leads to the laundry room, which is the one BB goes through, again using his elbow to flick the light switch. The old fluorescent lights come on with an electric hum.

He goes to the appliances assigned to his suite, that he shares with two other apartments, and hunches on the floor to toss his clothes into the side-loader. From a metal shelf that is attached to the wall over the washing machine, BB takes laundry soap and softener and adds a bit of each into the detergent compartments. After turning on the washing machine, he steps back and watches as the water rises and the tumbler starts to turn in a blur of colours.

It is almost hypnotic.

*** *** ***

BB pokes Aiden in the side. 

“Ouch! What was that for?” Aiden asks.

“Dude, you are staring at the washing machine, as if it holds the answer to the ultimate question of life, the universe, and everything,” BB says and grins, “Come onnnn, say it!”

Aiden rolls his eyes.

“Really?” He asks with an annoyed sigh.

BB pokes him again and says, “Come onnnn A, don’t be a party-pooper. Say it!” 

The older boy wants to go for another poke, but Aiden grabs his hand and pulls him close. BB, who had not seen that coming, trips over his own feet and he falls against his room-mate, now boyfriend, and feels Aiden wrap his arms around him.

“Forty-two,” Aiden whispers against BB’s lips.

“Good boy,…” BB purrs back and they kiss softly.

BB breaks the kiss and wants to step back, but Aiden’s arms won’t let him go.

“Hey,…” BB says, “I thought we agreed to keep this stuff to the privacy of our rooms. What if someone walks in?”

“So what if someone walks in?” Aiden asks with a pout.

BB gently bumps his forehead against Aiden’s and says, “Remember Peace and Jon? They weren’t even allowed to be in the same classes anymore and they were not… well,….”

“Gay?” Aiden asks with a sad smile.

“Yeah, I know,” BB says, sighing, “I know labels suck and I know you have the whole catholic guilt thing messing with your head, but hey,…” BB lifts Aiden’s chin gently, “Hey,… look at me.” Aiden blinks back tears and looks into his lover’s eyes. “You’ll be ok. We are ok. OK?”

“Bee,… then why haven’t you,… why haven’t we,…” Aiden hesitates and his cheeks blush, making his freckles almost fade, “you know… “

“You can’t even say it without going all shy,” BB teases, “I told you, I don’t want anything marring our time together. I need to end things with Dan first.” 

“Yeah,…” Aiden says and BB can see jealousy flashing in his eyes.

“Come on, you know that he means nothing to me. We just hooked up a few times when I went to Winchester, but it was just sex. What we have is more than that. You know that, right?”

Two months ago, after BB had told Aiden about his eyes, he had also opened up about another secret he was guarding…

After Wammy Kids turned fourteen, they were allowed to go on weekly visits to Winchester city, by taking a country bus that circulated the surrounding villages and passed the orphanage every three hours on week-days. The teenagers had to apply for a free afternoon and their outings were taken as seriously as any other class. Exposure to the outside world was always encouraged, even if a few of the young adults only used their time to shop for toiletries and anything else they needed, but some kids had made friends with a few of their peers from town.

Aiden, who had only recently turned fourteen during his summer trip to France, had been looking forward to going with BB, but there was Dan, a twenty-four year old construction worker who had somehow managed to seduce his boyfriend into bed and they had avoided going to town for weeks.

No,… Aiden thinks, it’s more like BB is avoiding a face-off with Dan.

Aiden hated that asshole with every pore of his body.

“You don’t owe him an explanation,” he says, “He is a fucking pedo. He took advantage of you.”

BB pushes himself away from Aiden’s embrace, angry at having to have this conversation again.

“He didn’t take advantage of me. It wasn’t like that.”

“You keep saying that, Bee, but you never tell me what the hell that means!”

“Fine, you want to know what that means?” BB says, his voice raised in frustration, “It means that I fucking liked it, ok? Is that what you want to hear? That I enjoyed getting fucked in the ass by a big guy with a huge cock?”

Aiden gasps.

“I loved to get down on my knees too and take his big juicy cock in my mouth! Is that what you want to hear? That I like big juicy cock? Are you fucking happy now?”

Tears of anger and shame at himself and what he had done, run down BB’s cheeks.

“No Bee,” Aiden says, “I am not happy, but I think that I get it now.”

Aiden steps forward and hugs the sobbing BB tight.

“Ssshhh,…. It isn’t your fault. Don’t feel guilty for liking it. He is the adult here, he should have known better,” Aiden says, stroking BB’s head, “It isn’t your fault Bee.”

“I’m scared A. I don’t know what to say to him. How do I put an end to it?”

“It’s alright, Bee. You have me. You aren’t alone. I will go with you. Ok? We’ll do it together.”

*** *** ***

Hypnotized by the twirling colours in the washing machine, BB hears Aiden’s voice echo through his brain, “We’ll do it together... “

He covers his eyes with his left hand and swallows a sob. 

“I am sorry A, so sorry.”


	19. 28th October 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB and Aiden take the bus to Winchester so that BB can end things with Dan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Instead of having a memory or flashback, I decided to write this whole chapter set in the year 1996.  
> There might be more chapters like this in the future.
> 
> A quick note on the name situation as it applies to this story:  
> Wammy Kids have their real name (for example Nate River) when they are in the orphanage they have to take a moniker and use that to protect their identity (Near), if they take part in the successor program, they use their initials only (N), if they become the next L, it is expected that they'll take over that letter and identity.
> 
> If you have any questions, feel free to ask. =)

They take a bus to Winchester a few days later, after lunch. Aiden, witnessing BB getting gloomier and quieter on the drive to town, tries to take his mind off things by talking about BB’s upcoming birthday. 

“I’d like to see if I can find you a birthday present. Maybe we could go to a bookstore later, or a music shop? What do you think? But you can’t see what I’m getting you, ok? No peeking.” 

They are sitting in the back row of the bus, BB to Aiden’s right, by the window. He is staring outside, completely absorbed by the fields rushing by, his head turned away and Aiden knows that none of the words he just said have registered with him at all.

“Hey Bee?” Aiden says quietly and he touches his boyfriend’s arm gently.

BB turns his head slowly and blinks. “Hmm?” He says.

“Your birthday, on Friday?” Aiden asks. He can see BB pulling his mind back from wherever it had disappeared to and trying to focus his concentration on the younger boy’s smiling face. 

“Yeah?” BB says, still not fully in the here and now.

“Now that I am allowed to drive to town, I’d like to get you an actual present this year.”

BB pushes back to sit up straight, so he can look into Aiden’s eyes and says, “But I like the cards you make. I saved them all, you know? I really don’t need anything. Don’t worry about it.”

“It’s not about that. I’ve been looking forward to getting you a real present this year. It would make me so happy. Turning sixteen is something of a big deal, you know? It should be celebrated adequately,” Aiden says and puts his right hand on BB’s thigh reassuringly.

“Ok, sure,…” BB takes Aiden’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze, “I can take you to a few shops later. Sound good?”

Aiden’s smile lights up BB’s heart. He would do anything for that smile, to see those tiny wrinkles appear as a big smile pulls up his freckled cheeks and makes his green eyes bright with joy. 

“Thank you, Bee,” Aiden says quietly and checking first that no one is watching, there are only three more people in the bus and they all sitting in the front, he plants a quick kiss on BB’s lips.

“Listen,… in town don’t call me Bee. We should use our Wammy monikers.” BB says.

“Alright, Bee…” Aiden says, “Sorry, sorry. Bane… That is going to be harder than I thought. I’ve always called you Bee.”

BB can see the question coming and he gives himself a mental kick for being such an idiot.

“When will you tell me?” Aiden asks and there is a sad tone in his voice, “Your real name. You know mine,… Shouldn’t I know yours?”

BB looks down at their hands. “I will, in time,” he whispers and Aiden has to lean in to hear him. “Please be patient with me. It’s not you. I just have some serious fucking trust issues and every time I want to tell you, it’s like my throat gets blocked up.” He looks up at Aiden, who sees pure hurt in his boyfriend’s eyes. “I’ll know when the time is right. Please bear with me.”

“Ok Bee, I can wait,” Aiden says and gently bumps his forehead against BB’s.

“Bane, remember? … Aster?” BB says with a grin, “It is weird. Your real name is much prettier.”

“Yes, well,… It was my mother’s favourite flower,” Aiden says, “When Mr. Wammy told me about the name situation, it was the first thing that I could think of. It seemed so strange at first, but after that assembly we had in September, it all makes so much sense now.”

“The detective thing?” BB asks.

Aiden nods and says, “To think of all the years and all the money Mr. Wammy and Mr. Ruvie put into the project,… It seems a little crazy, doesn’t it? To spread a global net of connections of highly trained orphans and have them all answer to one central figure. It’s like something out of a crime novel or movie.”

“What did you think of the dude?”

“L?” Aiden furrows his brows, thinking, “He seems an odd one, don’t you think? To be honest with you, he never really registered with me. I know I have seen him around, but he seems so,…”

“Lethargic and indifferent?” BB cuts in.

“Yes… that,…” Aiden says, “But I think there is more to him than meets the eye. You know that German proverb we covered in class the other day,… Stille Wasser sind tief?”

“Calm waters are deep,” BB says, “I see what you mean.”

“And I was thinking,” Aiden continues, “the whole nurture verses nature approach that our whole school system is based on. Most of us don’t have a natural gift, but thanks to the high quality of classes and teachers that are available to us, we develop some pretty amazing skills, that under normal circumstances we probably would have never even dreamed of. But people like you, with a born talent… you are on a completely different level. And so is that L guy. He might seem a joke, but there is a reason why Mr. Wammy picked him. There was something in his eyes, like he could see right through you and read your mind.”

“Heyyy,…” BB gives Aiden’s hand a tight squeeze, “don’t tell me you are crushing on the guy?”

“What?” Aiden laughs, “God, no. I like them tall, dark and handsome.” Aiden raises their entwined hands and kisses BB’s knuckles.

“I might be labelled as one ‘born with a fucking talent’ by the profs,” BB says and nudges Aiden, “but you are a much better student than I could ever be. You are so organized and responsible sometimes, it’s scary. And your brain cuts like a knife, man. You know you always figure out the ending of a movie way before I do,… every fucking time!”

“Oh shut up,” Aiden says and blushes a little.

BB gives Aiden a kiss on the cheek and asks, “What did you think of the successor program?”

“That it makes sense,” Aiden replies, “at least the way Mr. Wammy explained it. Considering the years he has devoted to this, it would be a shame to lose it all if his chosen one fell ill or, god forbid, died. He would need someone to fill that gap quickly and seamlessly.”

BB looks out the window and notices that they are driving through a suburb now. They’ll have to leave the bus in another ten minutes or so. Without looking back at Aiden he asks, “Think we should try for it?”

Aiden blinks. “What? Us?” he says with a gasp.

“Why not?” BB says and turns his head to see that Aiden has his jaw open in surprise. “I like to think that we’re pretty fucking clever. This should be a walk in the park for us. It’s not like we have any real plans on what to do once we graduate.”

“But what if one of us is made an official successor,… “Aiden says worriedly, “what happens to the other one?”

“Once you have your foot in the door, you can make sure that I won’t get left behind,” BB says, squeezing Aiden’s hand, “I’m sure we can figure something out.”

“Oh really?” Aiden giggles. “As if I had a chance! You’ll be the one who’ll get that proverbial foot in the door.”

“Nah,… you’ll beat me to it. I know you will,” BB says, “So, what about it?”

“Hmm,… I don’t know, Bee,” Aiden says thoughtfully, chewing his lower lip.

“Bane,” BB says and puts his right index finger on Aiden’s lips to stop him from biting himself sore.

“Sorry,” Aiden looks embarrassed, “I keep forgetting… Bane.”

For the last stretch, they sit quietly next to each other, holding hands until BB presses the stop request button and they get off in a busy street.

As soon as his feet touch the pavement, BB’s stomach knots in fear. Aiden, who notices his discomfort, gives him an encouraging nudge. “Where to?” He asks.

The sound of traffic, people talking, shoes shuffling, make BB’s head spin and he makes a sudden turn to the left and starts walking down a narrow alley. Aiden has to hurry to keep with him.

“Hey,… Are you ok?” He asks when BB stops a moment to catch his breath as he leans against a wall.

“Yeah,… gimme a sec.” BB closes his eyes and tries to shut out all the noise. He concentrates on the knot of fear that is making his stomach turn, trying to loosen it and to relax.

Aiden, looking at his boyfriend’s inner struggle, goes to lean on the wall, next to him and waits patiently.

When BB opens his eyes and steps away from the wall, Aiden says, “Listen, if this is too much, we can just leave. You don’t have to do this.”

BB turns around quickly, grabs Aiden’s head with both hands and presses a kiss against his lips. Surprised at the sudden attack, Aiden freezes up for a moment, but when he feels BB’s tongue parting his lips eagerly, he melts into the kiss. He runs his hands down BB’s back and pulls him closer, squeezing his ass, which makes BB press his leg up and against Aiden’s crotch. Aiden squirms and a little whimper escapes him. BB breaks the kiss, leans his forehead against Aiden’s and between gasps for air he says, “No,… I need,… I need to do this.” He kisses Aiden’s cheek. “I need you… God, so much.” He nudges into Aiden’s neck, giving him gentle nibbles. Aiden’s breath right by his ear, BB can hear him give off a quiet moan. “I need you too, Bee,” he whispers.

They both jump in fright when a loud voice yells, “GET A ROOM FOR CHRISSAKE!” They look up and see an old lady staring down at them from a window above. “Don’t ya make me throw a bucket o’ water at ya!” She threatens. BB and Aiden look at each other and start laughing. “Ya horny kids are worse than the goddamn cats! Git outta here!”

BB takes Aiden’s hand and runs with him to the end of the alley, where they come out into a pedestrian street of the old part of town. They are both in stitches, laughing so hard that people are staring at them curiously. 

BB wipes tears from his eyes and says, “Come on, let’s go.”

“Oh god. Give me a moment,” Aiden says giggling, “I gave myself a cramp from all the laughing.” He holds his right hand against his side and bends forward, the other hand resting on his knee for support.

BB grins at him, “Well at least the old lady cured us horny cats from taking it too far and she didn’t even have to throw a bucket of water at us.”

Aiden looks up at him and starts laughing again. “Ouch,” he says, “Stop it! You are making it worse!”

BB takes Aiden’s arm and pulls him upright. “Come on, let’s get out of here, people are staring.”

Aiden leans into BB and whispers, “You started it, you horny tomcat.”

They both get the giggles again and supporting each other they make their way down the street, past some shops and a café.

“So where are we going?” Aiden asks.

“Dan lives just around the corner, “ BB answers.

Aiden looks at him sideways, to make sure that his boyfriend is alright. “So,… you just want to ring the doorbell and see if he is home?” 

BB nods. “Yeah, I guess,” he says, “he is usually around by now and if not, we’ll just…”

BB stops suddenly and stares ahead. Aiden follows his gaze and sees a couple who have just left a flower shop, a tall, burly, yet handsome man with short blond hair wearing a brown leather jacket and a young, pretty red-head, who has her hair tied up in a pony-tail and is wearing a long green dress. She is holding a bouquet of roses and smelling them. The man says something to her and she smiles at him. She takes his arm and they are about to walk down the street, when she notices the two teenagers staring at them. She points them out at her companion.

“Is that him?” Aiden whispers. The way he can feel BB tensing next to him, is all the answer he needs.

The man looks puzzled at first and when he recognizes the young man staring at him, he looks almost embarrassed and then angry. He walks towards them, the young woman’s arm through his.

“Heyyyy, if it isn’t good ol’ Bane,” he says with forced cheerfulness, “How have you been, buddy?”

“Dan,” BB says and stares at him and the woman and then back at him.

“Honey, won’t you introduce us?” The young woman says.

“Sure, hon. This is Bane, a… kid who,… did an internship at the company,” Dan says and it is almost pathetic to see the relief dawn on his face when he comes up with the lie.

“Hi!” Aiden says, “I’m Aster, a friend of Bane’s, we go to school together.”

“Nice to meet you. I am Jane, Daniel’s fiancée,” the woman says.

“Hey, you know what?” Aiden says, “I’d like to get my mum some pretty flowers like that. She loves roses! Would you mind helping me to pick some out? I’m afraid that my friend and I are pretty clueless when it comes to flowers and I would really appreciate a woman’s help.”

“Uhm,… sure,” Jane says, completely taken by Aiden’s bubbly personality. She looks up at Dan and asks, “Do you mind, dear?”

“No, no, honey,” Dan smiles at her, “Go ahead, I’ll wait here with,… Bane.”

Jane gets up on tiptoes and kisses Dan on the cheek. “I’ll be right back,” she says. Her and Aiden walk back to the flower shop, happily chatting away.

As soon as they are out of earshot, Dan steps closer to BB and grunts angrily, “Where the fuck have you been, boy? I haven’t seen you in weeks.”

“Fiancée hey?” BB says with a grin, “Funny, she doesn’t seem your type. Unless she likes it up the ass, of course.”

Dan pushes BB in the chest, making the young man fall back a step. “Watch your mouth asshole.”

“My mouth?” BB grins even wider. “I thought you liked my dirty mouth. My dirty little mouth wrapped around your cock…”

Dan grabs BB by the front of his shirt and pulls him into a doorway, away from passing pedestrians, some of who are giving them looks.

“You are lucky we are in public or I would beat the shit out of you, “ Dan whispers threateningly, some of his spit spattering on BB’s face.

BB wipes his face with his sleeve and says, “She has no idea, does she?”

“Of course not, “ Dan says and puts his hand against BB’s face, “You wanna drop by later? She’s going back to her parents in an hour or so. It’s been a while and I miss you. I’m sorry I was so angry, you just startled me.”

“You want me to come over?” BB asks and closes his eyes, he can’t look at Dan, he is afraid he might throw up if he does.

Dan runs his thumb against BB’s skin and whispers, “Yeah, that would be nice. I’ve missed your tight little ass and I am sure you are just dying for a good fuck. Aren’t you, boy?”

BB slaps Dan’s hand away and steps out of the doorway. “No,” he says. “I won’t be dropping by at all anymore. It’s over.”

Dan steps forward and reaches out a hand to pull BB back, but at that moment Jane’s voice calls out, “Danny darling!” They both turn their heads and see Jane and Aiden walk towards them. Aiden is holding a rose. When Jane reaches Dan, she grabs his arm and beams up at him. “We better get going honey, I don’t have much time and I can’t miss my train.”

“Yeah,…” Dan says and without looking at BB or Aiden, he starts walking away, Jane in tow. 

She turns and waving her bouquet she says, “Bye boys! It was nice meeting you!”

Aiden waves back. “Bye Jane and thanx for your help!”

As they walk down the street, arm in arm, Jane asks, “What did you two talk about? That Asian boy looked so serious!”

“Nothing much. He told me that he is quitting his internship, “ Dan answers.

“Oh, he can do that?” Jane asks, “I thought that internships offered to school kids were compulsory.”

When they reach the end of the street, before turning right, Dan looks back. He sees the auburn haired kid tickling Bane’s chin with the rose, making his boy smile in a way that he had never seen before. And then _his boy_ kisses that Aster kid on the lips.

So that’s how it is.

“No, honey,” Dan says, “he can’t do that. He really can’t and there will be consequences.”


	20. Breakfast Club

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L goes to BB's rooms. They talk about Aiden over breakfast and BB manages to get a little closer to the detective.

L stops in front of the door to BB’s rooms and listens. Someone is playing the guitar, sounds like the melody from a music box? The melody changes, sounds uplifting, and… singing?  


L’s eyes widen in surprise and he takes one step forward, holding his ear as close to the door as he dares without making any noise and listens,…  


" _He's got a smile that it seems to me, reminds me of childhood memories, where everything was as fresh as the bright blue sky… Now and then when I see his face it takes me away to that special place and if I stared too long I'd probably break down and cry…_ “

BB’s voice sounds so sad, L thinks and leans forward a little more and the floorboard under his foot creaks loudly.

The guitar stops and he hears BB say, “Stop creeping around and come in.”

The first thing L sees when he opens the door is the back of the room’s entertainment center. Every suite has one with a television set, a VCR and a DVD player. Students are free to add equipment, for example game consoles or stereos, if they purchase them with their own allowance from shops in town, once they are fourteen, of course.

L steps around the low table that holds the TV and sees his successor sitting on a couch, holding an acoustic guitar with his long braid over his left shoulder. There are two couches in the middle of the room, facing each other and with the entertainment center they make a u-shape, with the kitchenette opposite the entrance. 

He takes a quick glance around the main room and sees that the shelves on the wall are filled with books, video tapes and a few DVDs. 

It reminds him so much of his time as a student, although in the suite he shared with three others, they had the entertainment center up against the left wall, between two of the bedroom doors and they had a small table, there is no table here, but he sees that there are two trays on the floor, with what looks like breakfast. He sees bread, butter, honey and jam, muffins and a selection of Christmas cookies. 

His stomach growls.

“Uhm,…” L says and raises his right hand. He is holding BB’s socks between thumb and index finger. “I assume these belong to you.”

BB sets the guitar aside, leans it against the couch and gets up to take the socks from the detective. L then removes the book and notebook that BB had left upstairs from under his arm and holds them out.

“I forgot about those,” BB says, “Just leave that on the couch and sit down. I hope sitting on the floor is ok with you?”

L nods.

As BB walks into his room, to throw the socks into his empty hamper, he says over his shoulder, “I thought you might be hungry. Help yourself.”

When he gets back to the room, he sees L sitting on the floor with his knees pulled up to his chest, licking frosted sugar from a cookie.

“That thermos has tea,” BB says and points, “that one coffee.”

L looks up at his successor, his grey eyes hooded by his long bangs. 

“Thank you, BB,” he says, “for earlier too.”

BB shrugs and sits down on the floor, opposite of L, with the trays between them. He reaches for the thermos with the coffee and pours himself a cup. L notices that he drinks it black.

“No thanks necessary,” BB takes a sip from his cup of coffee and stares at L over the rim of the cup. “But I want some answers, L.”

The detective pushes the cookie into his mouth and pours himself a cup of tea. “Hmmm, yes. I know,” he says. L pulls the sugar bowl towards himself and BB stares fascinatedly as the detective starts pouring spoon after spoon of the white sweetener into the tea.

“I will be honest with you, “ L says as his spoon twirls the sugary syrup in his cup, “I am not sure that I can give you all the answers you are looking for.” L licks the spoon and sets it on the saucer. “But I will try, if you answer some questions that I have for you.” He picks up the cup and drinks from it. 

BB winces. “How can you drink that stuff?” He asks.

L nods towards the cup of black coffee that his successor is holding and asks in return, “How can you?”

They look at each other, one with an awkward toady smile and the other with a sideways grin and they both say at the same time, “Touché!” They raise their cups at each other and drink.

“Tell me about the book,” L says after settling down his cup. He picks a muffin and starts eating it, watching his successor expectantly.

BB takes the book and the notebook that L had left on the couch. He looks at the book title and reads, “Symbolism and Art of the Book of Kells, by Evan Ahearn. Aiden’s father was a historian, a professor of Irish studies actually, at the University of Dublin. He was obsessed with the Book of Kells apparently and Aiden was doing his own research on the subject. I took this upstairs to show you, because your Shakespeare art reminds me a lot of the medieval style in the Kells book.”

Before taking another bite from his muffin, L asks, “And the notebook?”

BB passes the notebook over the trays to L, who puts down the muffin and reaches for it, but his successor pulls the book back. “Uh no. Not with dirty fingers,” he says, “and do NOT lick them, you Neanderthal. Use the fucking serviette. Seriously!”

Sheepishly, L picks up a cloth serviette that was lying next to his plate and wipes his fingers thoroughly. He then holds his hand forward, with the fingers spread wide, for BB to inspect. Sighing, BB passes the notebook over. L pages through it and sees notes, scribbles and drawings, all on details in the Book of Kells.

“This was done meticulously,” he says as he looks at a specially beautiful rendition of a monk, surrounded by vining branches of a tree. “Aiden was left handed, no?” BB nods. “He had a real talent,” L mumbles, “Just like his mother.”  


“What?” BB says and L hears a threatening tone underlying that question. “What do you know about his mother?”  


L moves his eyes from the drawing he was inspecting and bores them into his successor’s. “Quilla Ahearn, she was an artist,” L says, “Didn’t you know?”  


BB strikes out with his hand, as fast as a snake attacking a foe, and grabs the notebook away from L. “Yes, I knew,” BB says as he holds the notebook to his chest.  


“Hmm,… I wonder if she was left handed too,…” L mumbles as he picks up his tea cup and sips from it, never taking his eyes from BB’s.  


“What does that have to do with anything?” BB asks.  


“Well,… I might be privy to some information that I believe was kept from you by your room-mate,” L says and tries to give BB his best impression of innocent doe-eyed-L.  


“Really…?” BB says and he grins, his whole body tensing up. “You are so full of shit. A and I were close, he had no secrets from me.”  


“Interesting, isn’t it?” L asks and set his cup back on the saucer, “How you say that _he_ had no secrets, not _we_ …”  


BB frowns. Watch it, watch it, he tells himself, he is fishing for reactions, for information. Keep it cool.  


BB relaxes his shoulders and sets Aiden’s notebook back on the couch with the book written by his father. “What information are you referring to?” He asks, in a friendlier tone this time.  


Observing his successor’s sudden change in demeanor, L weighs his options. Wammy had warned him to not push too much, that Dr. Pearce was afraid that sudden mood swings might cause the young man to fall into a wave of despair and grief too deep for him to come back from. But that is why he was taking medication, to keep his emotions in check… if he was taking his medication, that is, and L wasn’t so sure that was the case anymore. But a little prodding can’t be too harmful.  


“The painting over the fire-place downstairs,” L says, his eyes never leaving BB’s, to take in any and all reactions his successor might reveal, “it’s hers.”  


BB shrugs and says, “I really don’t see how that could possibly be so shocking. I’ve been seeing that painting for as long as I can remember.”  


L waits.  


_for as long_  


He was seven years old when Aiden moved into the suite with him.

 _as I can remember_

“No,…” BB whispers.

L can see realization dawning on his successor’s face.

“She was a Wammy Kid and Aiden knew?” BB asks.

“You are half right,” L says.

“Quit the fucking games, L. Just tell me,” BB says and can’t hide the fact that this is stirring his curiosity.

“Aiden knew, but not what you think,” L says and BB knows the asshole is enjoying this, by the way his grey eyes sparkle, “she was not a Wammy Kid, not the way you’re thinking.” L picks up his tea cup, takes another sip and frowns at it when he notices that he drank it all.

BB thinks that if that fucking detective doesn’t spill it soon, he is going to lose his goddamn mind and strangle the bastard, but he forces himself to remain patient as L pours himself more tea. As he watches one spoon of sugar after another being poured into the cup, his mind makes the connection.

BB reaches across the tray and grabs L’s hand, stopping him from stirring his syrupy tea. L looks up at his successor.

“You figured it out,” L says.

“She was his daughter,” BB whispers.

“Bingo,” L says, he can feel BB’s hand wrapping itself around his, squeezing it so tight that the spoon he is holding is starting to press into his palm painfully. “Her maiden name was Quilla Wammy.”

BB, squeezing L’s hand tighter, whispers, “Holy shit…”

L feels a painful pang as the spoon digs into his skin. “You’re hurting me, BB,” he says calmly. He can see BB’s eyes shimmer with that eerie red glow they sometimes get and when L tries to pull his hand away, he feels his successor’s resistance.

“Let me go BB, you’re hurting me,” L says again, but he knows it’s falling on deaf ears, BB seems to be somewhere else in his head right now.

The only way he could get out of this is by hitting or kicking BB. It would make him snap out of it, but it might also trigger a violent response and the last thing he needs right now, L thinks, is a scuffle amongst his breakfast, especially since his body hasn’t fully recovered from last night’s cold shock and he feels sluggish. He figures that his best option is to wait for his successor to snap out of it on his own. L clenches his jaw when his knuckles are squeezed painfully. He had no idea his successor was this strong.

“Bane,…” L says, hoping the name might get through to the young man, but the pressure intensifies and he is unable to keep down a moan of pain.

BB blinks, whispers, “Aiden…?” 

He sees L, looking at him with big grey eyes, his jaw clenched to suppress another moan.

BB looks down at their hands. “Oh,…” he says and releases his hold.

L winces as his fingers unclench with a stinging ache. The spoon falls on the tray, clattering loudly. When he holds up his hand to look at it, he can see that his palm and knuckles are reddened and that the spoon left an imprint. 

BB crawls around the trays to sit to L’s right. He holds out his left hand and says, “Let me see.”

L places his hurting hand inside of BB’s open palm and the young man pulls it toward himself to rub it gently with his free hand, which makes L wince.

“Sorry,” BB says, “it’ll sting for a while, but I can make it better.”

He traces circles over the spoon’s imprint and applies a little pressure, which pushes out another quiet moan of pain from L.

“So,… Aiden knew?” BB asks.

L nods and says, “Yes, he knew. Wammy didn’t have a good relationship with his daughter … Ouch! …. He met his grandson at the funeral and became his legal guardian and decided that … Ouch! Be gentle! … that it would be best if the boy lived amongst other kids. Having lost his twin sister in the accident too, Aiden, as you know, was traumatized, and Dr. Pearce recommended that making friends with kids his own age might help him overcome his grief.”  


BB moves his fingers from L’s palm to his wrist and starts massaging it gently with his thumbs. L closes his eyes and sighs, he likes that, it’s soothing.

“You two,…” L says quietly, “you were more than friends.”

“Is that a question,“ BB asks in a quiet voice too, “or a statement?”

“Neither,” L answers, “just an observation.”

BB’s fingers are slowly and gently massaging L’s arm downwards, pushing his long sleeve all the way to his elbow. L knows that the scars on the inside of his arms are visible now and his first instinct is to pull away, cover them up and yell at his successor to not touch him, but this feels too good and BB has seen them before anyway. So he just keeps his eyes closed. He can feel BB on his side, warm where their bodies touch. He can’t remember the last time he felt so comfortable sitting next to someone who was not Wammy,… being touched by someone. He feels BB’s fingers run over the round burn scars, gently drawing circles over them. BB’s right fingertips are calloused from guitar playing and it doesn’t feel unpleasant,… not at all.

“How did you get these?” BB asks. When L doesn’t answer BB adds, “You said you were going to answer my questions.”

“Hmm, I said I would try,” L says, his eyes still closed.

“Well then, try,” BB says as he keeps running his fingertips gently in small circles, watching goosebumps appear on L’s skin.

L sighs, leans his head forward against his knees. His right arm has gone completely limp under BB’s caresses. He is getting shivers down his back. 

“This is so relaxing,…” he mumbles.

“L, don’t fall asleep. Tell me how you got these scars.”

An annoyed sigh escapes from the detective and he turns his head sideways to look at BB.

“Fine,” he says, “those are cigarette burns.”

BB squints at the scars. “Can’t be,“ he says, “they look too old.”

L rolls his eyes. “Those are _old_ cigarette burns,” he says and turns his face into his knees again, but BB has stopped running circles over his skin and this isn’t fun anymore. He sits up and pulls the sleeve down, trying to avoid BB’s questioning glare.

“You must have been very young when you got those,…” BB says, “or when they were given to you.”

“Bingo again, Sherlock,” L says bitterly.

L hugs his legs to his torso and stares straight ahead, as a sure sign that he doesn’t want to talk about the subject anymore.  


“You do know that most of the kids here have a past before coming to Wammy’s, right?” BB asks, “Some of them aren’t very pleasant from what I have been able to observe.” He waits to see if L has anything to say, but when all he gets is silence, he continues, “You can usually tell by the way they behave and talk during their first weeks. I guess I am one of the lucky ones, I was dropped off as a baby. My earliest memories are about Miss Polly holding me in her chubby, soft arms. She retired,… a few years ago? No idea. She used to call me the bane of her existence, because I was often sick with high fevers and she spent endless nights by my side, to make sure I didn’t croak. Years later I ran into her in the greenhouse and she told me that she was surprised to see that I was tall and looked healthy. She said that every year, up until I turned five, her and the doctor thought I wouldn’t make it beyond my next birthday. So, that is where the name,…Bee, uhm,… Bane came from…” 

BB pours himself more coffee, giving time for L to say anything, but again, all he gets is silence. Holding his cup with both hands, BB leans back against the couch and ‘accidentally’ sits closer to the detective. 

“Aiden though is another story,” BB takes a sip and sighs contentedly when he feels the coffee warm him up on its way down. “He had a truly wonderful childhood. Loving mother, doting father, sweet sister and a fucking beagle. Can you believe that shit? Picture fucking perfect family. And then, bam! They all die, even the frigging dog. Just. Like. That. Car accident. But I suppose you knew that.”

BB sips his coffee again, he leans a little into L, pressing his body even closer to his side.

“Bet you didn’t know though,… He was in the car for hours,” BB’s voice croaks a little and at the fringe of his vision, he sees L turn his head to look at him. “He watched his family bleed to death.” Holding the cup tighter, BB whispers, “Sweet, innocent Aiden, surrounded by his family’s guts, brains and blood.”

His hands start shaking, and BB sets his cup on the tray, before he spills the hot contents all over himself.

“Yes,” L says, “I did know.”

L reaches out and touches BB’s cheek to wipe away a lonely tear.

“Your observation was correct, L,” BB says and even though his eyes are sad, he smiles a little, “we were more than friends. Aiden was the love of my life.”


	21. 01st November 1996

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB turns sixteen and Aiden has some gifts for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Some smut ahead, but the whole "he rubbed lube into his eager hole to hit that that special sport" kind of thing is not what this story is about. Yes, there is fan-service and there is obviously going to be more sex (need to give BB some satisfaction on the L-front after all), but I am not going to include smut for the sake of smut. It is always going to be a natural progression of the plot, and as such, pornographic details will only be included if and when they are required to set the scene.  
> Hope ya'll still enjoy this and keep reading.

“Happy birthday Bee!”

BB closes the suite’s door and drops his satchel of school books on the floor.

“What is this?” He asks as he takes in the balloons and colourful paper garlands that are hanging from the shelves. “When did you even have time to do all this? Don’t you have French now?”

“Oh shut up!” Aiden says laughing. He walks towards BB, takes his hand and pulls him around the entertainment center to proudly display a tray on the floor, between the two couches. BB looks down and groans. “A bee, really?” He says when he sees the shape of the small birthday cake.

“Don’t be such a grouch dude, “ Aiden says and kisses BB on the cheek. “I baked it all by myself, just for you. So, you are going to eat it and love it and tell me that I did a good job.”

“Is that so?” BB says. He wraps his arm around Aiden’s waist and pulls him close to kiss him softly on the lips. “Can’t I just tell you that I love it and you did a good job and we can go,…” He moves his hand down and grabs Aiden’s butt cheek tightly. “…fool around in my room?”

Aiden pushes away and flumps himself on the floor. “Nope,” he says, “you have no idea the grief Madame Duvernay gave me when I refused her help. You will at least try it.”

BB rolls his eyes. “Fine, fine! Oh my god! Not like it’s _my_ fucking birthday or anything.” He sits next to Aiden. “Dude, there’s no candles.” He looks at Aiden and wiggles his eyebrows. “Maybe there is something else you want me to blow instead?”

Aiden laughs. “You are absolutely incorrigible Bee.”

“Yes, yes I am,” BB says, “incorrigible and irredeemable and wicked. So, so wicked.”

He runs his right hand up Aiden’s thigh, but the younger boy slaps it away.

“Bee, seriously!” Aiden says, stifling laughter. He takes a knife and hesitates before cutting the cake. “It’s so cute, I can’t do it.”

“You’re so soppy,” Bee says and takes the knife from Aiden, “let me kill the bee for you. There has to be some sort of weird psychological meaning in that, but it’s escaping me right now.”

“Freudian?” Aiden asks.

“Noooo, not Freudian. I don’t want to fuck the bee, I just want to cut and eat it.” BB answers as he sinks the knife into the cake.

“If that is not Freudian, I don’t know what is,” Aiden says and giggles.

“Oh puhlease,” BB says as he sets two pieces of cake on the plates that Aiden had prepared on the tray, “The guy is obviously totally overrated. Pervy old man with Oedipus Complex.”

Aiden starts to say something, but BB raises his hand to hush him.

“No, don’t start,” he says, “if we go on one of our rants, we’ll be sitting here all day and I just had another disagreement with Mister Knox about Plato’s misogyny. I am tired of psychology, philosophy and any other logy or sophy you can think of.”

“Disagreement?” Aiden asks.

“Well, you know how fucking stubborn he can be,” BB says and chomps down on a small piece of cake that he had scooped up with a fork. “I was being perfectly reasonable, not raising my voice at all, and he threw a hissy fit.”

“Aha,…” Aiden says, trying to hide his laughter, “I can imagine.”

“Hey,” BB says and looks up, smiling wide, “this cake is the shit! It’s so good!”

“Really?” Aiden asks and blushes.

“Oh my god A! It’s so spongy!” BB scoops a big piece of cake from his plate and munches it happily. 

When he sees that Aiden hasn’t touched his, he leans over to Aiden’s plate, sinks his fork into his piece of cake, cuts a little from it and moves the fork up to Aiden’s mouth, who opens wide so that BB can feed it to him.

“Hmmm, yes,” Aiden says, smiling, “not bad.”

BB says, “Fee, I tolf you fo!” and he chokes on cake, coughing.

Aiden hurriedly pours him a cup of coffee and passes it to him. BB drinks it in big gulps and when he sets the cup down, he sighs with relief. 

“Thank you,” he says.

“You are always too eager Bee, take it slow. Ok?”

BB grins. “Only eager for the good things in life and this cake is definitely one of them,” he says, “thank you so so much for baking it for me.” He takes Aiden’s hand and gives it a gentle squeeze. “Really, thank you.”

“Oh wait, that is not all of it,” Aiden says and jumps up. He runs into his room and comes back with a small gift. Instead of getting back on the floor, he sits on the couch and pats it. BB pushes himself up to sit on the couch next to him and blinks curiously.

“Here Bee, happy birthday,” Aiden says and gives him the wrapped present.

BB looks at it. “A,… the cake, the balloons, that was enough. You really didn’t need to get me anything else.”

“Oh shut up and open it!”

“Ok, ok, sheesh,…” BB says and carefully peels the scotch tape from the wrapping paper to reveal a small black box. He sets the paper aside and looks up at Aiden, “Are you planning on getting down on your knee to propose?”

Aiden laughs and slaps BB on the side of his arm. “You wish!”

Grinning, BB opens the box and takes out a silver zippo lighter. “A,… I can’t accept this,…” BB says as his thumb runs over the engraved letter A.

“I want you to have it,” Aiden says emphatically.

BB, overwhelmed, looks up at his smiling boyfriend and says, “This was given to your father by your mum on their wedding day. This is too much. It’s too meaningful, too important to you.”

“You are important to me, Bee, and I want you to have it,“ Aiden says. 

BB looks down at the lighter, at a loss for words. He can feel his heart constricting painfully and he is confused at the surging emotion that spreads from it to the rest of his body. 

Aiden takes the zippo from him and asks, “Do you know what my name means?”

BB raises his head and looks into Aiden’s green eyes.

“It’s of Irish Celtic, origin,” Aiden says, his voice sinking to almost a whisper as he clicks the zippo open and its flame lights up his eyes in a sparkle of green flashes. “it means ‘Little Fire’,” Aiden smiles, “this way, you’ll always have me with you.”

BB raises his hand, his gaze unwaveringly locked with his boyfriend’s eyes, he takes the lighter from Aiden, clicks it shut and tucks it into his jeans’ pocket. Scooting on the couch, to get closer to him, BB runs his hands up Aiden’s thighs, all the way around his waist and pulls him close. Aiden, guided by the older boy’s pull, moves to straddle him and as their bodies press against each other, he holds BB’s face and leans in for a kiss. As the tip of their noses touch, BB closes his eyes with a sigh, their lips touching gently as they peck each other with small kisses. BB flicks his tongue to get a taste of Aiden’s strawberry lip-gloss and runs his hands slowly up Aiden’s back, under the long-sleeved shirt he’s wearing. He can feel his boyfriend breathing a little harder against his mouth as he arches his back under BB’s touch, to grind his growing erection against him. BB pulls Aiden closer and the younger boy opens his mouth to BB’s eager tongue. They kiss deeply, holding onto each other with an almost desperate need. Aiden’s hips dancing in waves against his body, BB thinks he is going to lose his mind. His nails dig into Aiden’s back and make him whimper, a sound that makes BB see stars. With a growl, BB pushes Aiden back and blinks at him.

“You have no idea what you do to me,” he says as he gasps for air.

Aiden, cheeks flushed a deep red, smiles. “Oh, I think I do.” He tightens his thighs, pushes down and when he feels BB’s erection, he grinds into it.

“We should take this to my room,” BB says, “someone might hear us.”

Aiden jumps up, takes BB’s hands and pulls him off the couch. BB lets him guide him to the bedroom and once inside, he closes the door. Aiden turns around to face him and with a quick tug he removes his shirt, leaving his short hair somewhat disheveled. BB leans against the door with his back, he is struck by the view.

Shirtless Aiden, breathing hard, with a pretty flush over nose and cheeks that make his freckles almost invisible, his eyes glazed over with lust, his lips shining red from BB’s kisses, his jeans sitting low on his narrow hips, perfect little bellybutton, perfect white skin, perfect, perfect little tilt to the head, blinking at BB.

“God,…” BB whispers, “You are fucking gorgeous.”

Aiden steps towards him swaying his hips, smiling wickedly. He grabs BB by the front of his shirt, pulls him close and smacks him on the lips. 

Looking up at BB he says, “Bee,… make love to me.”

BB’s stupid heart does that thing again, it constricts and floods his brain with all kinds of weird emotions.

“Are you sure?” He asks.

Aiden nods.

“We’ve only been together, what,… a little over two months?” BB says, “You sure you don’t want to wait?”

“Wait for what Bee?” 

“I don’t know,… for you to be sure, for us to be,… no idea.” BB shrugs and covers his eyes with his right hand, sighing.

Aiden takes down BB’s hand, so he can look him in the eyes and says, “I know you think that my catholic upbringing is causing some sort of conflict that I need to work through. I also know that you think that your whole ‘devil-sight-thing’ freaks me out. You think you will hurt me, you think I need more time, you think I need to be protected from you.”

BB opens his eyes wide. Aiden takes his hands and squeezes them.

“What you think are all valid points and we can talk about them, we can work through things and not just mine,…” He smiles at BB, “We both know you have stuff to work through too.”

“Yeah,… I’m all kinds of fucked up,” BB says.

“Look around Bee, this whole house is full of fucked up people,” Aiden says, “Your buddy Freud would have a fucking field day with the messed up kids who live under this roof. But when you find someone, the way I found you, all that shit is just background noise.”

Aiden moves close to BB to wrap his arms around him. He holds him close and says, “Listen Bee, I want us to take the next step. I need you so much it hurts. I want to feel you inside of me. I want to become a part of you,….” Aiden hesitates.

BB raises his chin gently so he can get a good look at him. “What is it?” He asks.

“Oh Bee, you idiot!” Aiden says, “I love you!”

There it is, the pain in his chest. BB closes his eyes and savours the feeling, searches it for meaning, tries to dissect it and take it apart and understand what it means.

“Bee?” Aiden says, a tone of uncertainty in his voice.  


BB opens his eyes and sees the fear of rejection deep inside the green whirls of Aiden’s eyes as they flood with tears.

“Byakusei Tatsuzaki.”

“What?” Aiden asks, blinking in confusion as the first tears run down his flushed cheeks.

“My name,” BB says, smiling and he gently holds Aiden’s face between his hands, wiping at the tears with his thumbs, “Byakusei…” He kisses Aiden and pushes him towards the bed.


	22. A Battle of Egos

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The detective and the successor get closer and L shows a side of himself that BB had no idea existed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here we go,... more smut.
> 
> I am taking some liberties with the three detective identities that L uses.

This is something that doesn’t happen very often, L is surprised. BB’s attempts at getting closer to him have been so obvious, but he can’t figure out if this is just a broken soul looking for solace with what he thinks might be someone who understands his grief, or if it’s all just a ploy to get L’s defenses down so that he’ll open himself to pain and betrayal. There are moments when he is so sure that it is the later and then something like this happens, BB cracks and honesty seeps through and L has no idea what to do... another thing that doesn’t happen very often.

He wipes a lonely tear that runs down his successor’s cheek with just the tip of his fingers, searching BB’s eyes for anything that might deceive his true intentions, but all he finds there is a deep sadness.

“Your observation was correct, L,” BB says with a little smile, “we were more than friends. Aiden was the love of my life.”

A second tear, now on the other cheek, runs slowly over BB’s tanned skin and he lowers his head, his long bangs covering his eyes. L turns towards him to take the younger man’s face between his hands and lifts his head gently. L needs to read BB’s emotions in his eyes, needs to see if this real or if it’s just an award worthy performance.

BB still has a wistful smile on his face. His pupils constrict to small black points when L turns them towards the light, making the reddish brown of his irises shine like a pool of blood melting behind the shimmer of tears. L hesitates, waits for a vision of a fanged monster to blur the lines of BB’s features, but not this time,… this time all he sees is despair.

BB stops smiling and his eyes focus on L’s in return. He feels like a bug being studied under a microscope. There is a look of calculated intelligence on L’s countenance and his big grey eyes show nothing but scientific curiosity as he holds his successor’s face between his hands.

BB moves his hands up, to hold L’s face too and when he does so, he feels the detective flinch involuntarily, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back, when BB leans in closer, never breaking eye-contact.

The tips of their noses touch and BB sees it, the fear and uncertainty in L’s eyes, but he still doesn’t pull away. Whether it is from pure stubbornness to not give his successor even an inch, or if it is a need to satiate his curiosity, BB doesn’t know and right now he couldn’t give a flying fuck either way.

He wonders if L will taste of sugar. He feels L breathing on his lips. BB slowly tilts L’s head sideways, their noses brushing against each other. BB gently, so so gently, touches the detective’s lips with his own. This is not a kiss, just a soft skin on skin, asking for permission, waiting for the smallest sign.

He knows L’s brain is running like crazy right now, all his mental cogwheels probably fuming from the speed in which his thoughts are trying to figure out the pros and cons of either letting this happen, or putting an end to it. 

They both know that this is a duel of egos, a question of weakness and dominance and they both know, that neither wants to lose and will stubbornly refuse to back down.

Two tongues meet.

A shudder and a sigh run through L’s body as he closes his eyes and BB’s eyelids flutter shut too as his hands pull the detective’s face closer… and they kiss, both mouths open, lips pressed against each other, tongues teasing, tasting.

L scuttles closer to BB, moving his hands from his successor’s face, down his neck, around his shoulders, to dig into them for a hold. BB runs his hands to L’s hair, grabbing it tightly as their kiss changes from careful exploration to needy want, both of them breathing harder.

BB bites L’s lower lip, making him moan with pleasure and he advances on BB, bumping into him as the younger man’s body falls back, onto the floor.

BB groans approvingly when L pushes his thighs against him, to keep him locked up under the detective’s body. L grabs BB’s long braid and pulls at it, pulling his successor’s face away and breaking the kiss.

They both stare at each other, gasping for breath.

“What…” L swallows hard, “the _fuck_ do you think you’re doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” BB asks angrily, “What the fuck are _you_ doing?”

“You started it!” L says angrily and gives BB’s braid a strong tug that makes the younger man wince with pain.

“Son of a bitch!” BB curses, “Can you please not do that?”

“What do you want _Bane_ ?” L says the name with a tone of disgust and presses his thighs tighter around BB’s body.

“I want you, _Lane_ ,” BB says, inflicting the same tone on L’s moniker, “to get the fuck off me!”

L presses his hands against BB’s chest and pushes himself off and up, pressing the breath out of BB with a loud “Oof!” and tucking his hands in his pockets, he steps on the couch and gets himself settled in a corner, his knees pulled up and staring at his successor.

BB stares at the ceiling and lies there for a moment, giving himself time to control his laboured breathing and to push down the urge to strangle that fucking asshole, then he lifts himself off the floor, with an annoyed sigh, and sits on the couch, facing L.

L is angry at himself, he was hoping that he could get some answers and figure out what it is that his successor is after, but instead, he got carried away, took the experiment too far and now he can’t shake the taste of coffee on BB’s tongue, the way his shoulders tightened under his touch, the fluttering of his black eyelashes. What the hell was he thinking? He sinks his head onto his knees and sighs.

BB has an idea of what might be going through L’s mind and when the detective flumps his head forward, BB touches his lips, grinning. He can still taste sugar and herbal tea on his tongue. The shudder that went through L’s body, that was real, he knows that. The grin on his face freezes when he remembers the look of fear and uncertainty he saw in L’s eyes, reminds him so much of,…

“BB,” L says, his voice muffled as he still has his head leaning on his knees, “what do you want?”

“What do you mean?” BB asks.

L looks up, his eyes hooded by his bangs, his hair tousled more than normal from BB’s administrations. If it weren’t for the daggers that are shooting from his eyes, he’d be almost cute, BB thinks and smiles, which makes L scoff at him.

“Wipe that stupid smile off your face, _Bane_ and be straight with me,” L says, his voice lowering a note, giving it a threatening tone.

“Ha!” BB says and laughs, “Just in case you haven’t been paying attention, _Lane_ , I can be anything but straight with you, you asshole.”

“I’m serious. I know you are up to something. Why the sudden friendliness, the physical closeness, the,…” L waves his hand at the floor, where only a few minutes ago, their tongues were entangled into each other, “ _that_!”

“You didn’t seem to mind _that_ ,” BB says, mirroring L’s hand-wave, “while it was happening. In fact, you seemed to enjoy it quite a bit, if the bulge I felt in your pants was what I think it was.”

“A normal, biological reaction to oral stimuli,” L says.

BB squints his eyes at L. “Riiiiight,” he says, “there is so much I could say to the ‘oral stimuli’ prompt that you thoughtlessly threw at me, but I’ll spare you, we don’t want another ‘normal, biological reaction’ to make your brains fall into your pants now, do we?”

“You are trying to change the subject,” L says and starts chewing the nail of his right thumb, as he looks at his successor inquisitively, “what do you want BB?”

BB closes his eyes and sighs. What he wants is to make the detective pay for his lover’s death, he wants to see him on a cold tiled floor, with the life-giving blood leaving his body in ruby rivulets, his eyes as realization dawns on him, that he was bested by his backup. BB looks at L and gives the numbers that are floating over the detective’s head a glance. But that is not likely to happen any time soon, and besides, breaking his genius mind is where the real challenge lies. Although,… BB can’t wait to see L’s pale, naked body again, but this time squirming under him, moaning,…

He sees L frown.

How much of his thoughts did he just betray? BB wonders.

“I don’t want anything from you,” BB says, “Why are you so mistrustful? Just because someone reaches out to you in friendship, doesn’t mean that they’re looking for something to take from you.”

“That is not how things work,” L says bitterly, “Everyone always wants something. Humans are inherently selfish. I see it every day. All the cases I have solved always have selfishness at their center. That and greed. It turns people into monsters. I should know,… I am one of them. I am human too, believe it or not. You and Wammy and all the others, you all think I am infallible, perfect,… but I am not.”

“The fuck you talking about?” BB asks, surprised at his superior’s openness. He has never heard L talk like this before.

“You know. You and A have gone through all of my cases, you have studied them. You know the difference between L, Eraldo Coil and Deneuve. Think about it.”

BB tries to remember. Since his breakdown after the funeral in January and the aftermath that led to therapy with Dr. Pearce, he hasn’t been keeping up with his normal routine of classes and training of the successor program. In fact, he was pretty sure that Wammy was considering taking him off it, if things didn’t improve soon, which is maybe why they decided to leave him here with L this week, to observe his behavior. Everything is a fucking test in this place, he thinks.

Remembering the hours spent poring over cases that L had solved under his three detective identities, it comes to him.

“I see,…” he says, “L only picks up cases he is invited to by Interpol or local police, Coil is a detective for hire and Deneuve,… Deneuve always takes on missing children.” He looks at L for confirmation and when the detective nods, BB continues, “Of all three, you’d think that Eraldo Coil would be your selfish persona, due to the high fees that those cases shovel in, but you don’t strike me as the materialistic type. No, Coil is just a job and I know that L is Wammy’s baby, but Deneuve,… that’s your monster?”

He sees L nod again.

“That makes no sense, L,” BB says, “How can this side of you be a selfish monster? You save kids for fuck’s sake!”

L doesn’t say anything, he just stares at BB, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“Wait,… the scars on your arm,…” BB mumbles, “You were one of them, weren’t you?”

L nods.

“So,… Deneuve is your weapon? You take down human trafficking rings hoping to satisfy a selfish need for revenge?” BB asks, “Or is it something else?”

He watches L carefully and notices the tiniest flinch.

“You are looking for someone, aren’t you?” BB whispers.

L’s jaw clenches and BB sees how the same fury, the same hunger, the same lust for revenge that he has seen so many times in the mirror is now coming off L as in waves. Dude looks like he is ready to kill someone, BB thinks and he feels a sudden kinship with the detective.

“Heinrich Hahn,” L says and his perfect pronunciation of the German name takes BB by surprise. He wasn’t aware that L spoke German.

“Is that the guy who burned you?” BB asks and when L answers, he can hear the hate literally dripping from L’s lips.

“No, that is the guy who sold me.”


	23. A Closer Look

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The two young men don't see eye to eye when it comes to the pursuit of justice and someone takes his shirt off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little foreshadowing to Light Yagami? Mebbe. =P

Silence settles between the two young men as they sit on the couch, one with his legs pulled up, knees against his chest, his black hair a hopelessly fuzzy mess, his clothes half a size too big, crumpled on his thin body, the other with a long dark braid over a shoulder, long legs crossed comfortably as he lounges back against a couch pillow, his clothes a perfect fit, ironed jeans and crimson turtle neck hugging his shapely torso. They couldn’t be more different, but something unspoken passes between them and the silence is not awkward, as one would expect in a situation like this. The house, shaken by the storm raging outside, creaks around them, the only sound in the room.

BB can’t help but smile, to think that it was going to be hate and a thirst for revenge that would build a bridge between them. Oh the irony.

“This,… Hahn guy,” he says, “ever make any progress in tracking him down?”

L rubs his naked feet against each other as he pinches his lower lip between the thumb and index finger of his right hand. He can still feel a small pang where his successor’s teeth had bitten him, the inside flesh of his lip feels tender. He didn’t mean to reveal so much of himself, not in that kiss, which surprised him with the overwhelming hunger it had flooded him with, and not in the things he said to BB afterwards. He never confessed the true purpose of Deneuve’s work to Wammy, the one person who truly knew all the sordid details of L’s childhood, and here he was, opening up to his younger successor, who was anything but stable and whose reactions were so unpredictable.

L felt something stirring inside of him, a very familiar presence, the thrill of danger. His instincts told him that BB was dangerous. The madness that the young man tried to cover up with his smiles and the flirty way in which he acted around L, was only biding its time. He doubted that Dr. Pearce had any real idea of what they were dealing with here. Guy’s a fucking idiot anyway. L played him like a fiddle when he first came to the orphanage and fooled him into thinking that the abused kid they had brought in, was recovering and mentally sound.

He knows that he can use honesty to get to the bottom of what BB is really after, but the question is, how much of himself can he expose without his successor using it against him? That BB wants to turn on him is clear, but the how and why are what matters if he wants to stop BB’s madness from surging,… if he wants to help BB.

Does he though?

“Hmmm, yes once or twice,” L answers, “but he isn’t the slimy no-name pimp he used to be when I was a kid, he has powerful friends now and he has always managed to slip through my fingers. One day though, I will catch up to him and he will pay for his crimes.”

“Question,” BB says, “is that ‘pay for his crimes’ or, ‘I’ll make him pay by ripping his fucking heart out’?”

“Don’t be stupid BB,” L says and frowns at him, “we do things by the book here, you know that. I will give him to the authorities and he can spend what’s left of his slimy life in prison.”

BB raises his eyebrows. “I’m just saying. The guy has powerful friends, the kind of friends that probably have the best lawyers money can buy. Do you honestly think that he’ll do any real time? Wouldn’t it be easier and more satisfying, to do some hands-on justice and just,… get rid of him?”

“That’s not what I do, BB,” L says with a sigh, “and as my successor, that is not something you should be considering either. It would taint everything my name stands for. How am I going to go forward after a thing like that? How can I still have the moral high-ground if I stoop to the level of the criminals I hunt?”

“What if no one knew? You can’t tell me that the number one detective of the fucking globe, doesn’t know how to cover his tracks and make it look like that Hahn guy died in an accident or something.”

“I would know.”

BB snorts at that.

“Listen, I know that the justice system isn’t perfect,” L says, “but we have to work within its boundaries and play by its rules. If we don’t, the power would get to our heads and in our arrogance we would start to think that we are more than mere mortals. It would create a chasm between us and humanity. Blinded by our own pride, we would build our own doom.”

“Unless we had the power of gods,” BB says and grins.

L rolls his eyes.

“You and your moral high-ground,” BB says bitterly and an angry flash lights his eyes with a red sheen, “don’t make me laugh. I saw the yakuza tattoo on your back.” He grins wider when he sees that L’s eyes open wide with shock,… or fear? “Tell me L,… after that self-righteous sermon, are you working for the Japanese mafia and your detective work is just a cover-up so your criminal buddies have free reign…”

He just has enough time to raise his arm and block L’s foot right before it smacks him in the face. He grabs L’s ankle tightly and gives it a pull, making the detective fall back and slide towards him on the couch. L starts to push himself up by his elbows, but BB’s body is on him, pinning him down with his legs and pushing L’s arms into the seat cushion. L tries to wiggle free, but his successor is stronger and he gives up with a frustrated groan.

“What?” L says, looking up at the still grinning face of BB.

“All the sparring sessions we’ve had and this is the first time I have been able to get you down,” BB says and chuckles.

“Congratulations,” L says through clenched teeth, “I’ll make sure you get a fucking medal. Now get off of me!”

“Hmmm, nope,” BB says, “I am enjoying the view way too much.”

L glares up at him.

“Don’t give me that look,” BB says, lowering his face closer to L’s, “as soon as I let you go, you’ll just try to kick me again.”

L tries to wiggle free, but BB puts more pressure on him, digging his hands hard into L’s arms, causing the detective to take in a sharp breath.

“Hurts, does it?” BB says grinning.

“Fuck you!” L says.

BB moves his mouth to L’s right ear and whispers, “Are you offering?”

Instead of answering him, L moves his head sideways, to get away from BB’s hot breath, but in doing so, he exposes his neck and BB can’t resist the temptation. He sets the tip of his tongue on L’s collarbone and slowly runs it up the pale neck bared to him. He feels L tense his body, but he doesn’t try to squirm away, BB notices, he just lies very still. BB thinks he can dare to do a little more and starts to leave gentle nibbles on his way back down to the collarbone. Is it his imagination, or did L just shiver? BB pauses to look sideways at the detective’s face. L’s Adam’s apple bobbles when he swallows hard and his mouth is partially open, breathing quietly. BB sees the smallest hint of a blush on L’s cheek. BB notices L clench his jaw and in the nick of time, he is able to move his head up and away, before L’s forehead can hit him on the nose.

“Whoa!” BB exclaims surprised.

“Are you done now?” L asks and glares at him, fuming with anger.

“Show me your tattoo,” BB says instead of answering him.

“What?” L frowns at him. “Why?”

BB shrugs. “Curiosity, I didn’t get a good look at it earlier. I’ll let you go, if you let me see it.”

L carefully weighs his options. If he says no, there is a high chance that BB will just keep him pinned down like this, doing things with his mouth, that he… just… can’t deal with right now. If he says yes, he’ll be released but he’ll have to expose his vulnerable back to this up-to-no-good successor of his.

Then again, BB did undress him this morning and ran a bath for him to warm him up from the winter chill he had, stupidly, exposed himself to. If he really wanted to do something, he would have done so when L was unconscious and weak. 

He might be playing right into BB’s hands with this. It’s a risk, but a calculated one, if he keeps his wits about him.

“Alright BB,” L says.

BB slowly releases his hold on L and carefully moves back and away to his end of the couch, his arms in defensive position, expecting a kick or a punch to come his way, but L only sits up and starts rubbing the pits of his elbows.

“Sorry about that,” BB says sheepishly. Giving his successor an angry glare, L moves his left hand to the right side of his neck and rubs it. “Not sorry about _that_.” BB grins.

L gets off the couch and pulls his long-sleeved shirt over his head, exposing his torso. BB runs his gaze over the detective’s thin frame. Even though L is somewhat lanky, his body looks trained, not as much as BB’s though, who spends a lot of time working his shoulder and arm muscles, but enough to make BB’s mouth water. His eyes fall from L’s enticing collarbone to his chest and stop at the red scar on his side that stands out like a red lightning bolt, curving over his right ribs to his back. L drops the shirt on the floor and watches BB attentively.

“How did you get that?” BB says, awed. He reaches out to touch the scar, but hesitates before his fingers can touch L’s skin.

“Katana,” L answers. “A remnant of undercover work I did a few years ago.”

BB thought he knew all of L’s cases, he can’t remember there being one where L had gotten himself hurt like this, plus…

“You don’t do undercover work,” he says confused.

“Not anymore, not after this,” L says and lays the fingers of his left hand on the scar. “Wammy won’t allow it anymore. Now, we use capable officers to do the more dangerous jobs.”

“How come I never heard about this?” BB asks.

“It was a personal matter,” L says and by the tone in his voice, BB can tell that he won’t be saying anything else on the subject. He decides to not probe further, he doesn’t want to push his luck. So far, L has been very cool about answering all his questions and the tattoo is the one thing that truly intrigues him. He can’t fuck this up.

L sits down on the couch again, but this time, facing the other way. He pulls his legs up into his preferred position and leans his head on his knees.

BB gives himself a moment to appreciate the detective’s slim waist, his jeans, that are a little too big for him, sit low on his hips and expose his lower back. BB’s eyes follow the protruding bumps of L’s spine up to the criss-crossed lashes on L’s back. He is dying to ask about them, but swallows down the question to take a closer look at the monster tattooed over L’s left shoulder blade instead.

The creature’s face is like a pale mask of a human skull, its mouth open, revealing two sets of sharps fangs, the tips of which are reddened. Two black horns, curved and pointy, grow from its head. The body is somewhat indistinguishable, as there are black and grey tatters of cloth wrapped around it, blowing as if moved by the wind, but the monster’s claws protrude from the shadows, reaching out its sharp nails as if ready to pounce. Dark feathery wings , growing from its back, frame the whole shape.

But it is the eyes that draw BB’s attention the most.

They are round, lidless and staring. The irises are red, dark as blood. The same eyes he has seen in the mirror all his life.

“Can I,…” BB swallows, “touch it?”

“Oh, _now_ he’s asking,” L mumbles, but he does give a small nod.

BB reaches out with his left hand and brushes over the creature’s eyes with the tip of his index finger.

“When did you get this?” He asks. “And the design? Did you find it in the artist’s portfolio?”

“After my graduation, four years ago,” L answers, “and no, I didn’t. It is my own design.”

How is this possible? BB thinks. It is uncanny how much the eyes look like his when he uses his demon sight on the mirror. 

He runs his finger down, over the monster’s body and feels something bumpy. What the…?

L sighs and says, “The tattoo covers an old scar.”

BB runs two fingers over the image and yes, he can feel an almost square shaped protrusion with,…

“Kanji?” He says, confused. “Wait, is this a name seal?”

Like a blind person using the tip of their fingers to read braille, BB tries to make out the Chinese characters used in the Japanese writing system. 

“I can’t tell what it says,” he mumbles, “this feels like ‘yama’,… mountain and ‘hebi”, serpent?”

“It’s very old, I am not surprised you can’t read it, I have grown quite a bit since it was burnt into me, “ L says quietly.

Burnt? BB thinks. Like cattle? What the fuck?

“Black Serpent Kamiyama,” L says.

BB takes in a deep breath and exclaims, “Holy shit! That was the head of the Kamiyama yakuzas. How the fuck did you get involved with them?”

L doesn’t reply and BB knows that the detective gives him the silent treatment when he wants his successor to make his own conclusions. BB thinks fast, he pulls all the information he has been able to gather from his conversation with L and everything he knows about the Kamiyama clan.

“That Hahn guy sold you to Eito Kamiyama, didn’t he?” BB caresses L’s tattoo gently. “There are rumours that he was into boys and that he was quite the…” 

He feels something inside of him snapping, a vision of Dan crosses his mind and he pushes it away. 

“…sadist.” 

He can’t feel pity for L, he can’t let himself,… feel. Not for him, not for the cause of his grief, of his own pain, of Aiden’s pain. BB suppresses those thoughts and concentrates on stroking L’s back softly. He can’t let the detective know that anything is amiss.

“He married and had kids though. I suppose to cover up his perversion and to make sure that he would have a male heir. He died of a stroke some years ago? His son, I think has taken charge,” BB, still caressing L’s back, notices how the detective’s shoulders tense. “He is older than you, isn’t he? … Is he your Nii-san?”

L turns around so quickly, that BB can’t react fast enough and next thing he knows, L has grabbed him by the front of his sweater and is pulling him forward, to look into his face with a snarl.

“How do you know about that?” He asks.

“Sheesh, relax dude. You called to him in your beauty winter sleep a few times.” BB taps L’s hands. “Do you mind? You’ll wear the fabric out.”

With a snort of disgust, L pushes BB back, reaches down to get his shirt from the floor and puts it back on.

“We’re done here,” L says and he raises from the couch.

Shit, BB thinks, I can’t let him leave now, not without knowing how he designed that fucking tattoo and what secrets are locked within those eyes. 

“L, wait,..” BB says. He jumps up from the couch and follows L to the door, almost running into it when the detective pulls it shut behind him with a loud bang.

“Fuck!” BB swears.

Behind him the pill dispenser opens with a whirr and click.


	24. Father and Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> L finds a place where he can think in peace, away from his successor's infuriating presence.

L stands outside of the suite fuming with anger, not at his successor so much, but more at his own stupidity. He waits to see if BB will follow him outside, not knowing what he’ll do if he does. He touches the side of his neck, where BB had licked and nibbled at him and with the tip of his tongue, he runs over the inside of his lower lip, remembering BB’s bite. He thinks of the way that his hands had dug into his arms, the pain of it running through him like electricity. BB’s grin, how the left side of his mouth curved into a smirk, his hungry eyes devouring him. 

L clenches his jaw. “Shit!” He says, pushing the word through his grinding teeth. He can’t deny it, this is lust. Not an emotion that he has very often, but there it is.

The house is shaken by a really strong gust of wind, a wooden moan creeping down the corridor at his back and L turns to squint at the shadows. The lights are flickering.

He needs a quiet place to think. He can’t go upstairs, if BB goes looking for him that is probably the first place he’ll go to. The other rooms of the house are out of the question for that same reason. He could just go sit in one of the kids’ suites, but that wouldn’t feel right. 

L frowns, absentmindedly rubbing the inside of his lip with his index finger, thinking, and then it comes to him, the perfect place. He smiles and walks towards the stairs and circles around them, to the corridor on the other side, the east wing of the orphanage, where more bedrooms lie. There are fifty suites to each level of the house. The east and west wing separated into twenty-five on two floors. The former attic, now L’s flat, in the middle, at the very top. When he reaches the first room on the left, he approaches the wooden wall panel on its side and pushes it at the right place to make it swing outward. The opening is a little small for him, so he ducks to walk through and pulling a knob on the other side of the secret wall, he pulls it shut behind him and walks down the former servant stairs.

A motion sensor turns on green lights on the side of each step, but even so, L descends carefully. The old stone stairs feels so cold under his bare feet and the steps are narrow. The last thing he needs right now is to tumble down to break all the bones in his body when he lands at the bottom.

Although,… L thinks as his slumped shoulders hunch even more, it might hurt less than the pang in his heart that BB caused unwillingly when he brought up Nii-san.

When he reaches the ground floor, L does another turn and keeps descending. It feels so much colder down here and he shivers. Sometimes he wishes Wammy would put floor heating in here too. 

L finally arrives at the very bottom of the stairs and he pushes the secret door to step into the narrow room that holds the boilers, heating system and fuse boxes of the house. When he closes it behind him, he makes sure that it has clicked in place, by running his hand over the wall, then he walks through the metal grate and turns left to walk to the locked door that leads to the wine cellar.

He types in his personal code and a small panel opens on which he presses his thumb. The kids had managed to unlock this door a few times in the past, but by adding the thumb print, Roger was hoping to make the system break-in proof. L could have told him that it made little difference, that they would crack even that eventually, but Wammy told him that Roger secretly enjoyed this little game and so L hadn’t said anything.

The sturdy wooden door opens with a click and L walks through. Before he closes the door behind him, he turns on the light by tapping a switch to the right. These stairs lead straight down and L follows them to the wine cellar. 

There is a musty, dusty smell in the air, making L sneeze. He rubs his nose with his sleeve and can imagine BB calling him a fucking Neanderthal for doing so. They have only spent a few hours alone together and already he has managed to become one of L’s inner voices. He doesn’t like this at all. How on earth is he getting accustomed so quickly to his successor’s language and his little intricate habits? Like the way he’ll jerk his head to the side sometimes to get his long bangs out of his eyes or how he’ll pat his left pocket when he is standing. L doesn’t think he’s even aware of doing it.

The wine shelves on the wall are made of ornately carved wood, the frames shaped into whirls of grapes and leaves with wave-like carvings. L approaches the shelf in the farthest corner and pulls down one of those leafy waves. He has to put some strength into it. The lever pushes down wheels from the bottom of the shelf onto the floor and L pushes it from the side, revealing an entrance. He quickly steps through and a motion sensor activates the mechanism that will pull the shelf to its original position, pulling the wheels up and out of view.

Lights automatically flicker on, revealing a long, winding corridor, carpeted. L sighs with relief when his feet touch its soft surface. It is still cold in here, but not as much as it had been in the cellar. 

Sinking his hands into his pockets, L walks down the passageway. He remembers the first time he had been down here.

*** *** ***

“Remember this pin, Lane.” Wammy says and types in a code into the display next to the door.

They had come down here the day after his graduation ceremony. Most inhabitants of the house had already left for their summer trips. The last week had been so busy with preparations for yesterday’s festivities and the frantic bustling that resulted from all the kids running around, doing their packing, saying their goodbyes and the general chaos that comes with it.

Seventeen year old L had been surprised when Mr. Wammy had taken him down to the cellar, and even more so when the secret entrance behind the wine shelf had been revealed. He wondered where the corridor led to, but first, there was this room, the control room as Wammy had called it. 

He pays close attention to the older man’s finger as he types in a six digit long number and burns it into his mind, stored away safely in his head. 

They walk into the room and Wammy leads his young protégée to a wall of screens. They show life feeds of views from around the orphanage’s perimeter, including the driveway to the main gate and the smaller exit behind the main building that leads to a path that goes to the forest up the hill. None of the inside of the premises though.

There is a control board with wheels to turn and focus the cameras and a number of other controls.

“When we go upstairs and I introduce you to your new home, I will give you a few things to look through,” Wammy says, “one of which is the operation manual for these controls. But I wanted to show you this place first.” He points at a red button. “If you press that, safety blinds will cover all the outside doors and windows of this building. No one can come in and no one can go out, except through the corridor behind us.”

The teenager looks at Wammy, eyes wide open in awe. “That is why you have us do those drill exercises,” he says, “I always thought they were a little silly, with the fire drill having us all go through that door,” he points at one of the screens, the one pointed at the path behind the house, “and the other one having us all run inside and meet in the dining room. I never understood why that second one was necessary, but I get it now. It’s so we can all leave together through the underground passage, in case of an emergency.”

L leans his hand on the swivel chair that sits in front of the control panel to take a closer look at all the buttons.

“Isn’t that a little,… paranoid?” He asks.

“You never know,” Wammy replies, “if anyone were to find out the true identity of our detective, or what we do here, we might become the target for all sort of criminals who would want to put an end to it, either out of revenge or in a pro-active move to shut it all down.”

L nods. “Makes sense,” he says, but he still thinks it’s a bit much.

“Through that door there,” Wammy points to the left, “you’ll find bunks beds, a bathroom and a pantry stocked with unperishable food and supplies, in case we have to use this as a panic room.”

Yeah, L thinks, definitely a bit much.

“Who knows about this?” He asks.

“Just me and Mr. Ruvie,” Wammy replies, “and now you.”

“Wow,” L says, “This is crazy.”

“What is?” Wammy asks.

L looks at him and shrugs his shoulders. “All of it, I guess,” he says, “that I am really going to do this, that you trust me so much with all the secrets of this place,… It’s overwhelming. I only hope you won’t regret your decision in choosing me, that I won’t disappoint you.”

Wammy lays his hand on the teenager’s shoulder. 

“My dear boy,” he says, “you could never disappoint me. I’ve been waiting all these years to find the perfect person for the job, and trust me, I know that that is you. You were born for this.”

L looks away, at the screens, so that Wammy can’t see the rush of emotions that his words have stirred within him.

A waste of space, a freak, a weirdo who’d be better off dead, that is how his mother saw him. 

A thing to be broken and tortured and owned, that is what his tormentor had trained him to believe.

But Quillsh Wammy,… this old English gentleman who called him ‘my dear boy’, who had not only saved him, but had given him a home, a reason to live, a life, believed in him, trusted him.

Only one other person had ever made him feel this way.

“There is something I need to do first,” L says.

“I know,” Wammy says. “I wish you wouldn’t, but I understand that you can only move forward if you do.” He gives L’s shoulder a gentle squeeze. “Anything you need, Lane, just let me know.”

“Thank you sir,” L says.

Wammy smiles at the teenager and says, “No need to call me that anymore. I will be taking the role of your personal assistant and butler, just need to think of a good alias I could use. For now, just call me Wammy.”

L turns his eyes towards the ceiling, thinking. His right thumb pushing against his lower lip.

“What about Watari?” He asks.

Wammy raises his eyebrows. 

L cocks his head to the side to look at the older man and says, “I think it would be appropriate. He was your friend and he risked everything to get me out of Tokyo.”

“Alright,” Wammy says and does a little bow, “in his honour, I shall carry the name Watari.”

“You miss him, don’t you?” L asks.

Wammy nods. “Roger,… Mr. Ruvie, Watari San and I graduated from Oxford together. We were room-mates and they are like brothers to me.”

“Cancer is a bitch,” L says.

“Language, Lane,” Wammy says sternly, “but yes, cancer is that.”

They smile at each other.

“Well,” Wammy says and sighs, “shall we go upstairs so you can look at your new rooms, or would you like to see where the passageway goes?”

“Since we are already down here,” L answers, “let’s walk down the corridor first.”

“Ah yes,” Wammy says, “follow me.”

*** *** ***

After a sharp turn to the left, L has reached the exit. Inserting another code into a display on the wall, the door unlocks and L enters another cellar, filled with crates and smelling of potatoes. He makes sure that the door closes behind him and he takes a set of wooden stairs that lead up to another door. He steps through it and stands in the cabin’s small kitchen. The snow storm that is still raging outside covers the windows in a white greyish blur and there isn’t much light shining through. But L knows his way around. He opens a cupboard and takes out a box of chocolates. Tucking it under his arm, he finds his way out of the kitchen, down a hallway and walks through the murky light, up the stairs to Wammy’s bedroom.

When L turns on the light, he walks straight to Wammy’s bed, where he grabs a comforter, wraps it around his shoulders and he sits in an armchair in the corner, a good place to have the whole room in sight. 

He pulls the thick blanket tight around his arms and tucks it around his legs, making sure that his cold feet are wrapped up nicely and opens the box of chocolates on his lap to pick one at random. As he munches on the gooey sweet confectionary he looks around the room.

There are some framed black and white photographs and diplomas on the wall. L has looked at them so often and for so long that he could draw them from memory. His eyes run over each one in turn. 

A picture of a teenage Wammy, smiling, his arms around two other young men, Roger Ruvie and Yuuma Watari.

L never thought about it, but it must have been difficult to get Yuuma Watari into England after World War 2. He suspects that a lot of money must have gone into bribing the right people to allow the young Japanese man to study in Oxford.

He glances at another photograph of an older Watari, dressed in traditional kimono for males, a montsuki-haorihakama, a picture of Roger in highland dress hangs next to it, quilt and everything, holding bagpipes. Both men look proud and stern.

Wammy’s University of Oxford diploma is next to that and also a certificate from the British Armed Forces, with a recommendation for marksmanship in the handling of sniper rifles and a set of medals , displayed in a wide frame underneath it.

On the nightstand next to Wammy’s bed sits a photograph, in a silver, flowery art-nouveau frame, of him and his beautiful bride on their wedding day. Even from here, L can see that she smiles like Aiden, open and bright. There are no photographs of his daughter, but L knows that Wammy has two photo albums locked away in his office. One with old family pictures of his former family and another one full of images of his new one, the children of the orphanage.

Wammy never talks of Quilla, his daughter, but L is sure that the rift between them happened after her mother died during a robbery gone terribly wrong. Wammy became obsessed with finding his wife’s killer, pushing his only child away in his grief and going down a path that would avalanche to his obsession in solving crimes. For years he had done so himself, with Roger’s and Yuuma’s help, planning to one day have someone with a quicker mind and better puzzle solving skills than himself, to take over the net of informants and contacts that he was raising under his very own roof.

If it weren’t for that, L would probably be dead by now.

He turns his head into the comforter and takes in a deep breath. It smells of Wammy’s aftershave, a smoky, wooden scent that makes L feel safe and at home.

The place in Wammy’s heart that used to be taken by his daughter, now belongs to him. He doesn’t have to call his old mentor father, for them both to know that.

But then she died and her son came here.

L is not immune to jealousy, as he had to find out when Wammy started to pay close attention to his grandson’s grades and well-being. And when both Aiden and BB had been the two runner-ups to make it into the successor program, he could see the pride in the old man’s face and L’s resentment towards Aiden had grown.

He likes to think that he tried to be impartial, that he didn’t hit A harder during their capoeira training sessions, that he didn’t assign him the most diffucult cases, but he can’t deny that he might have done so a few times in a childish attempt to thwart his successor’s progression in the program. 

Still, he wasn’t to blame for what happened.

He was not a constant presence in the boys’ lives, his work kept him too busy for that. That is what the tutors and the psychologist are for. Not his fault that they fucked up.

And here he is now, one successor dead and buried and the other one losing his mind.

The other one…

L sighs and sinks further into the armchair.

Could there be anything more inappropriate than feeling this way towards a young man he was supposed to be mentoring? L isn’t one who cares much for etiquette, social or otherwise, but he can imagine what Wammy would have to say about it.

The old man always turned a blind eye to L’s more shady approaches, and at times use of criminals, to solve a case. He understood that sometimes the end justifies the means, but this might cross a line that Wammy might not be able to look away from.

If only BB didn’t remind him so much of Nii-san, if only BB wasn’t who he is.

“What is in a name?” L mumbles. “That which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet.”

Just like Juliet is forbidden from getting near to Romeo, who carries the name of the enemy, L shouldn’t get close to his successor, not the way his body wants to. If the young man were anyone else, someone who was not a Wammy’s House brother, would he have been able to restrain himself? Because regardless of who BB is, he is still attractive, maddeningly persuasive and one hell of a kisser.

L groans.

Five more days until everyone comes back. Can he avoid BB for that long?

More importantly,… does he want to?

L stuffs two chocolates in his mouth and chews them angrily.

Then there is also the fact that BB seems to be up to something and L’s curiosity tends to get the better of him. So far, BB has totally played him with his crooked grin and his stupid flirting and his stupid, stupid hands and lips. 

Not only is L not good at this game, but he wouldn’t mind losing… not at all.

L shivers, not with cold, but with the memory of BB’s callused finger tips running over his skin.

The box of chocolates falls to the floor as L embraces his torso, digging his hands into the pits of his elbows, much like BB had done. He presses harder, wanting the pain to rush to his head. He bites his lower lip, closes his eyes and flumps forward, rocking back and forth, forcing himself to substitute BB’s face with Nii-san’s. Trying to remember Nii-san’s voice, Nii-san’s hands, his hair,…

A pang of pain and lust and need makes sparkles appear before L’s close eyelids. He tumbles from the armchair, the comforter cushioning his fall. As he rolls onto his side, L’s right hand slips into the front of his jeans. He grabs his erection hard and curling his body into a ball, starts furiously rubbing at it, his left hand at the side of his head, fisted around his hair, pulling it until the sting from his scalp pushes tears of pain from his eyes.

More pain, he needs more pain.

L bites down on his lip and groans, his breathing harsh.

When he comes, it is not Nii-san’s name that passes his lips.


	25. Valentine's Pressie

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Layout and floorplans.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> <3 A little Valentine's Present for you all! <3
> 
> If anything is unclear and/or you have any questions, please don't hesitate to ask.

The small shady shapes on the floors are carpets and the little squares next to A's and B's beds are nightstands.  
It's a bit of a clusterfuck, but I hope that it's not too confusing. I added red lines to mark the walls of the successors' rooms, because with all the other stuff around it they were hard to see. 

I think that the Main House turned out to be somewhat smaller than I picture it.


	26. Sútha Talún

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> BB suffers from painful migraines.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 'Sútha talún' is Irish for 'strawberries'.
> 
> Migraines with aura, yeah... no fun. Feels like someone stuck a knife into your head. Have been dealing with a bad one all week. It lingers for days and I have to wait for a good moment to sit down and write. Which is why sometimes there might be longer breaks between updates.

BB hesitates, his hand reaching towards the door handle. He wants to follow L and stop him from walking away, but…

“Shit!”

He turns towards the automated pill dispenser next to the small kitchenette sink. He has to make sure he takes the medication or an alert will be sent to Dr. Pearce and the old fart will know something is up. The doc lives in Winchester and he might drive up here to check on things. Something BB does not want. He takes the two small envelopes from the opened container and with his finger he pushes the small box in until it clicks into place. BB closes his fist around the meds, clenching them tightly and goes into his room, where he puts them inside the box he has in his desk drawer.  


Should he go look for L or would it be better to give him some time to cool off? He did seem pretty pissed off and pushing him further might just make the detective retrieve back into his snail house of isolation and BB would have to start anew, picking at L’s walls for a crack to reappear. 

BB flops into his desk-chair and sighing sinks his head on top of the table to rest his forehead on it. He is so tired. All this hate was exhausting. He wishes he could lay his head on Aiden’s lap and rest, like he used to.

Aiden... Wammy’s grandson. 

He doesn’t see it. They don’t look anything alike. 

Do they?

BB pushes himself off the desk, the wheels of the chair propelling him backwards, so that he can stare through the open bathroom door, at the door that leads to Aiden’s room.

Why did A feel like that was something he had to hide from people… from him? 

BB closes his mouth tightly as he nibbles on the inside of his lower lip.

Aiden had secrets and when they came to light, everything had started to fall apart. BB tried to put the pieces back together, he was sure he could have fixed things, but L… L ruined it all. L with his superiority complex, L with his dead eyes, L with his indifference, his detachment from everything that was not a case and everyone who was not a fucking microbe to be examined under a magnifying glass.

BB digs his nails into the chair’s armrest, letting the hate wash over him.

“Bee, the pain,…” Aiden’s plea echoing in his head, over and over again, “the pain,… pain…”

Slowly pushing his body off the chair, BB raises and steps towards the bathroom. He hangs onto the doorframe to his left for balance as his anger and grief threaten to wash over him, blinding him. Lighted from behind, his shadow stretches on the bathroom’s floor. Red blotches appear in his vision and the ghost of a pale hand, resting in a pool of blood, wrist torn to shreds, materializes right above the border of where the light from the door cuts the darkness.

BB takes one wavering step then two, before a pain like someone hammering a needle into his right eye makes him fall onto his knees. He clutches his head, groaning. He drags himself forward on hands and knees, his eyes closed shut, feeling his way along the floor. He half expects to dip his hands into a warm pool of thick liquid, but feels the fuzzy carpet instead.

“Almost there,…” He says through gritted teeth.

From the pit of his stomach he feels a wave of nausea crawling up his esophagus.

When he reaches the toilet, he manages to lift the seat just in time and in gut wrenching surges, he vomits his breakfast into the bowl. His stomach clenches painfully when there are no more contents that could make their way up. BB rips some toilet off the dispenser and wipes his mouth. He throws the paper into the toilet bowl and flushes it all away, but the noise of the rushing water makes his migraine implode. BB falls against the door to A’s room, clutching his head. He needs to lie down until this goes away. He reaches up and after a few tries manages to pull down the door handle. 

Groaning in pain, BB crawls towards the bed and tries to pull himself up on the mattress by hanging onto the covers, but when a sharp pang digs into his right eye, it is all he can do to curl on the floor, the blanket falling with him. 

BB closes his eyes. Even with the pain searing through his brain, he registers that it smells of puke and strawberries.

“A…” he says.

He grabs the blanket and covers his head with it. With the snow storm still raging outside and the curtains pulled shut, the room isn’t that bright, but even so, he needs pure darkness if he wants this pain to subside. Trying to distract himself from it he concentrates on the blanket’s smell, the smell of Aiden, whose entire set of toiletries consisted of anything strawberry related.

“Sútha talún,” BB says with a grimace.

He remembers that the day they met he had spent all morning in classes and just wanted to drop by his room to leave his schoolbooks, before heading back down to lunch. He was in a hurry and didn’t notice that the door of the bedroom connected to his was open.

*** *** ***

“Huh,” Bane says, looking up at the principal, who is standing in his doorframe. He had almost bumped into Mr. Wammy.

“Hello Bane,” the old gentleman says.

Bane takes a step back, his heart fluttering, wondering what he had done. His head running through all the things that he could be getting in trouble for, but he really couldn’t think of anything that would explain why the principal himself had come to see him. 

Seeing the look of shock on the small boy’s face, Wammy smiles and says, “Don’t worry, I’m not here to reprimand you for anything. In fact, I hear that you have been doing pretty well lately. May I come in?”

Taking another step back, Bane nods.

Wammy walks towards Bane’s bed and sits down on it, to be at eye-level with the boy.

“Only thing that has me a little worried,” Wammy says, still smiling, “is that you don’t seem to be making any friends. I’ve been told that you are always on your own.”

Bane tucks his hands into his pants’ pockets, pouting. “So?” He says, sinking his chin to look at the old man through his bangs.

“Would you mind telling me why that is?”

Bane, who is looking at the floor, hears the honest concern in Wammy’s voice, but hesitates to answer. He doesn’t know how to explain that he’d rather be alone than have to see the red lettering floating over people’s heads. He has learned not to stare at it anymore, everyone always got so uncomfortable when he looked towards the top of their heads instead of their faces when talking and he had been labelled as a weirdo amongst his peers. He had figured out pretty early that he was the only one who could see names in the air and the odd numbers that accompanied them. He still hadn’t figured out what those meant, which is why he was taking the advance math class, hoping that understanding the intricate workings of numbers, he could one day uncover what the digits meant.

But he did know that if he ever told anyone about it, they would think he was crazy. Crazy people got sent to the crazy house, he was pretty sure of that. He didn’t want to leave the orphanage, even if the other kids were stupid assholes, this is the only home he has ever known.

So instead of answering, Bane shrugs his shoulders.

He looks up when he hears Wammy sigh and sees the old man rubbing the bridge of his nose.

Bane notices that the principal looks tired, a little gaunt and grey around the eyes. 

“Well, the fact that you have this whole suite to yourself probably doesn’t help the situation,” Wammy says, putting his glasses back on his nose and smiling at the boy. “How would you feel about getting a room-mate?”

Bane crunches his nose up in disgust.

“Yes, I figured as much,” Wammy says, chuckling a little. “I’m afraid that you will have to share the rooms with someone else. We have a new child joining us today.”

Bane knew this day was going to happen sooner or later. He had to share the suite with two older boys during his first year. One had left the orphanage at the age of ten, when he was adopted, and the other one had graduated that same year and had left for university. Bane never cared enough to remember their names. He figured that one day the vacated rooms would be assigned to other kids, but so far he had been lucky and had lived with the luxury of absolute privacy and command over the TV stations. 

Well, that was over. 

Wammy gets up and says to Bane, “Let me introduce you two. Come with me.”

Instead of walking through the bathroom, the old man walks to the other bedroom by way of the suite’s common room, Bane trailing after him.

First thing he notices when he follows Mr. Wammy into the room is a fruity smell. He sees an open suitcase on the bed to the left and a small child sitting in the chair with brown-reddish shoulder long hair. 

Wammy steps to the child and whispers, “Aster…”

The child looks around and back, green eyes sparkling with contained tears as they look at the Asian boy who is standing in the middle of the room, transfixed.

What the…? Bane thinks.

The child slips down from the chair, a white dress, patterned with red strawberries, unfolding to the floor.

“A girl?” Bane asks and blinks at Mr. Wammy.


	27. Apple Analogy and Rose Petals

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eight-year-old Bane gets some background info on his new room-mate and present-day BB wakes up to a hungry detective.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am no expert on the psychology involved. This is fiction and no disrespect or misinformation regarding DID is intented in any way.

“Dissociative identity disorder?“ Bane asks.

Mr. Ruvie had come to Bane’s suite to check if things were going well with the new resident of Wammy’s House. He had stayed behind to help Aster settle in and Wammy had taken Bane to Dr. Pearce’s office in the school building. The psychologist was sitting behind his desk, looking at his unexpected visitors over the brim of his glasses. 

“Imagine an apple, if you will,” Dr. Pearce says, “it is one whole fruit.” He makes a round shape with both hands, the tip of his fingers touching. “Now if a big force smashes into it,” here the doctor drops his hands onto the desk, “the apple splits in half.” He separates the hands. “Something similar happened to Aster.”

“How?” Bane asks.

Dr. Pearce looks at Wammy and when the principal nods he says, “He was in a car accident and witnessed his family... uhm…”

“They all died, except for Aster.” Wammy cuts in, “You have to understand Bane, he was in the car for five hours until someone found them and then it took another three to get him out of the car wreck.”

“Sir, is it really necessary to give him the details? He is only eight.” Dr. Pearce says.

“Don’t patronize me, doc,” Bane says.

For the first time in over a week, Wammy laughs. Both the doctor and the boy look at him, surprised by his outburst.

“Sorry, sorry,” Wammy says, trying to pull himself together. God, he needs to sleep. “As you can see doctor, Bane is not just any eight year old.” He ruffles Bane’s hair and the boy grins at him.

“I see,…” Dr. Pearce clears his throat and continues, “in that case, Bane, the trauma of being with his dying family for hours caused a rift in Aster’s personality. Especially his sister’s death hit him hard. Twins are by nature, closer than other siblings and it seems that a part of him can’t accept that she is dead. In order to deal with the loss, his mind has created a split personality, an alter-ego, his sister Ailis.”

“I understand,” Bane says, “How do we fix him?”

Wammy raises his eyebrows and gives Dr. Pearce a meaningful look. ‘I told you so’ his eyes seem to say.

Dr. Pearce had been against assigning Aster to Bane. He told Wammy that Bane had displayed some violent tendencies and was impatient and a bad fit to help anyone, least of all a traumatized child, but Wammy had insisted, expressing his concern not only for his own grandchild, but also for the eight year old Bane, who seemed to be alone by choice and was probably in need of saving himself. Wammy said that Bane would come through and it looks like the kid did. 

“Well,” Dr. Pearce says, “all you can do is be a friend to him. When his alter comes through, don’t push him to be anyone else, just accept it as a part of him. With therapy and a lot of support and patience, we can all help him overcome his grief and he can hopefully return to his true self for good one day. It is important that you avoid anything that could trigger Aster’s need to hide behind his other persona.”

“What kind of things?” Bane asks.

“Avoid talking about death or accidents or anything of that nature,” the doctor says, “also,… violence.”

Wammy looks at Bane, “That means, no more beating up other kids, Bane.”

“Huh?” Bane says. “I never start it!”

“Well, don’t finish it then.” Wammy says, “Just try to avoid trouble. Alright?”

Bane nods.

“Avoid trouble.” Bane squints his eyes, thinking. “What about everyone else?”

“Ah yes. Aster will have private tutoring until he is stable enough to join one of the classes. Dr. Pearce and two teachers will be monitoring his schedule.” Wammy says and he puts his hand on Bane’s shoulder. “Your role will be a supportive one for when he is in his room, mostly weekends and during the night.”

Dr. Pearce frowns at the young boy. “To be honest with you, Bane, I do not approve of the head master’s decision to burden you with Aster’s care. You have no obligation here. If you think this is too much for you, we can ask one of the older boys to look after him.”

“Can I think about it?” Bane asks.

“Of course.” Wammy replies. “Why don’t you go for lunch and maybe a walk afterwards. Don’t worry about your afternoon classes, I’ll let your teachers know.”

Bane’s stomach grumbles and both men smile at him reassuringly when he blushes.

“OK, I think I’ll do that,” Bane says and excusing himself he leaves the psychiatrist’s office.

On his way down to the ground floor of the former church, now school-building, Bane passes a few kids and a teacher or two. The classrooms are emptying as everyone is going to lunch. Bane was hoping he could be one of the first in the dining room, to pick a secluded table at the back, but he knew that the place would be full by now. The thought of having to make his way through a room filled with a red fog of letters and numbers floating over everyone’s heads unsettles him. He decides to go to the kitchen for food later, when things have calmed down. 

Instead of walking back to the dormitories, Bane strolls down towards the rose garden. He figures it’ll be empty and quiet there at this time of day.

It is late summer and last night’s rain had soaked the earth, giving the air a fragrance of earth and roots, a precursor to autumn. Bane breathes it in, this is his favourite time of the year. He walks towards the statue that marks the center of the rose garden. Most roses are still in bloom and shine in a red velvety gloss under the noon sun. Bane stops at one of the bushes to touch one of the flower’s petals.

He doesn’t know what to do.

He could tell Mr. Wammy that he doesn’t want the responsibility of looking after a younger kid, especially one with crazy problems. He knew that even though the principal would be disappointed, that he would understand. He didn’t want to admit to himself how scared he was of getting close to anybody, of anyone finding out how truly fucked up he was.

Bane closes his eyes, his hand clenching the petals tightly.

But he was so lonely. Wouldn’t it be nice to have a friend? Just one? If he was careful, he could hide the truth of his weird eyesight and maybe… maybe not be so alone all the time.

Bane opens his eyes and looks at his hand, the rose petals he had crushed left red stains on his fingers. He thinks it kinda looks like strawberry jam. 

Oh, that was the fruity smell in the room, wasn’t it? 

Strawberries.

Like on the dress that kid was wearing.

What was his name again?

*** *** ***

“Aster,” BB mumbles.

“What?”

BB peeks through a gap in the blanket up at L, who is sitting in Aiden’s chair in his usual stupid knees-up way. BB notices two things, it has gotten a lot darker and his migraine has receded to a dull throb in his temple.

“The fuck are you doing?” BB asks, lying on the floor.

“Watching you sleep, BB,” L answers, chewing at the thumb nail of his right hand.

“Ugh,” Bane grumbles and covers his face with the blanket again. “Why?”

“It’s interesting,” L says.

“Go away L. I am not in the mood for your bullshit.”

BB turns onto his other side, away from the room and the detective and tries to disappear under the blanket. His dream is still swirling in his mind and he feels groggy. He wonders for how long he slept. Not long enough apparently, he still feels tired. All he wants is to go back to sleep and wake up more refreshed to deal with the asshole who… is now sitting right behind him.

“Headache?” L asks.

BB sighs. “What do you want L?”

BB doesn’t have to turn around and look at the detective to know that he is chewing his thumb and staring.

“I’m hungry.”

You have to be fucking kidding me. BB thinks and wishes that the blanket would make him invisible and that L would just go away.

Wait?

Is he..?

Is the bastard fucking poking me?

BB grunts and flops back around to glare at L.

“What?” He grunts.

“Let’s go eat,” L says, cocking his head to the side, his finger pointing at BB, ready to poke him again. “It’ll help with your headache and I could use the company.”

“Put that fucking finger away before I break it,” BB says, but he does sit up. He leans back against the bed and glares exasperatedly at the detective. “What do you need company for? I thought you preferred to be alone.”

L looks at his finger and not knowing what to do with it, because poking his successor again seems like a bad idea, he decides to put it in his mouth and rub the inside of his lower lip, where he can still feel a small pang where BB had bitten him.

“Yes I do, but you see,” L says and tries to smile. BB thinks he looks like a maniac, grinning like that, with his bangs in his eyes and a finger in his mouth. “I don’t know how to light the fireplace and I’m really in the mood for dinner by the Christmas tree and a nice fire before the students come back and hog it to themselves. Wammy used to do it for me, but he is not here.”

BB looks at his superior, the world’s most famous detective, L the Great, blinking at him like a three-year-old asking for a treat and he doesn’t know if he wants to laugh or punch him, or both.

Aiden had looked at him like that. “Bee, will you be my friend,… please?” Aiden’s voice, an echo from his dream, from his memories, swirls across his thoughts. 

“Ugh fine!” BB says and he sees L’s grey eyes sparkle.


	28. Collision

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-dinner bliss by the firelight. What could possibly go wrong?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~+* NSFW *+~

Night had fallen on Wammy’s House. The snow storm had finally abated and silence had become one of the three current residents of the orphanage, only broken by an occasional crackling from the fire. The other two inhabitants sat in an armchair each, their lunch-trays on the floor. L had plugged in the Christmas-tree lights. The tree stood to his left, by the window and its colourful twinkles seemed to compete with the warm firelight to push back the dark of the night.

L sighs, happy at the quiet and the comfort and the fact that he had filled himself with Christmas cookies from the pantry, not touching much of his own dinner, as BB had noticed with disgust. He smirked at the thought of all the sugar the detective put in his body.

“You have to tell me how you can eat all that crap,” BB says, looking sideways at L, who leans back against the backrest of his chair and stretches his arms over his head. It reminds BB of the way a cat would stretch, especially when L closes his eyes and yawns loudly. Dude has no manners, BB thinks.

“I have super high metabolism, if I don’t consume enough sugar, I get tired and can’t concentrate.” L says and lowers his arms to hug his knees to his chest. He cocks his head to the side and blinks at his successor lazily.

BB scoffs. “Yeah right, you’re just addicted to the rush, aren’t you?”

L looks at him and opens his eyes wide, the fire reflecting off his grey irises. “What rush?” He asks.

“Sugar-rush, you idiot,” BB answers.

“Hmm, I don’t think I’ve ever had that. What does that feel like?” L says and lays his head on his knees to stare at BB. He wiggles his toes and starts rubbing them against each other.

“Nevermind,” BB says.

He looks at the fire, trying to avoid the detective’s glare, hoping that he will get the hint and look away, but from the corner of his vision, he can see that L isn’t moving at all.

“What?” BB says annoyed and turns to look at L.

L nibbles his thumb and mumbles, “It is really quite uncanny,…”

“What is?” BB asks.

L slowly moves his feet to the floor and almost crouching, makes his way towards BB. When he reaches his successors armchair, he leans forward, putting his hands on the armrests and moves in close to stare into BB’s eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” BB asks and frowns.

“Sshh,… lemme look,” L whispers.

He raises a hand and gently holds BB’s chin to turn his head a little sideways and then he moves to the side to let the firelight shine into the young man’s eyes. He pays close attention to the way the pupils expand and then contract, by moving his other hand in front of BB’s eyes.

“Uh,… L?” BB asks confused. “What are you doing?”

L stops waving his hand in front of his successor’s face as if suddenly realizing what he is doing and freezes, staring at BB with a look of utter bewilderment. 

“Your eyes,…” L says quietly.

L’s right hand is raised in the air, in front of BB’s face, palm open and BB reaches for it. He pulls it down, pulling L towards him in the same movement.

“What about my eyes?” BB whispers.

L’s left hand, that had been holding BB’s chin, loses its hold and the detective stumbles forward, moving his hand to the back of the armchair for support and avoiding a direct collision of their foreheads. BB chuckles and L frowns at him, wondering if this just another of his successor’s ploys to get under L’s skin and get a rise of any reaction he might display, or if the attraction he has been flaunting is genuine. He decides to prod a little and to see if he can’t turn things around and surprise the younger man into revealing which one it is.

L raises his right knee and wiggles it into a gap between BB’s thigh and the armrest, to push himself halfway on top of his lap. His eyes are wide and staring, but BB can’t see any real expression in them, because with the unkempt bangs falling over his face and the fire’s light at his back, most of L’s face lies in shadow. He tightens his grip on L’s wrist but instead of pulling back, L leans into his pull.

BB raises an eyebrow and squints at the detective. This is the first time that L shows any reciprocation to his, not so inconspicuous, moves and he wonders what this means and how far L is willing to take this game.

Releasing the detective’s wrist, BB runs his hand over L’s arm, trailing his fingers all the way to his right shoulder. L has gotten hold of the younger man’s long braid and is pulling at it as he moves his other knee on the armchair, straddling him.

There is a moment of concentrated stillness in which both men are absolutely motionless, just staring at each other. Both are aware that their opponent’s mind is running through all kind of scenarios of where this could go if they proceed and if they are willing to open themselves up if they do.

The soft crackling from the fire is the only sound in the room, but suddenly one of the wooden logs cracks from the heat in a loud snap like a gunshot at the beginning of a race and as if this had been the sign they had both been waiting for, their lips meet, mouths opens and tongues hungry for each other’s taste. 

BB moves his hands around the detective’s waist, pulling him close, their chests bumping against each other. L holds his successor’s face to deepen the kiss, making him groan approvingly. BB runs his hands under L’s shirt to run his hands up the scarred back that the detective had always been so careful to hide. L doesn’t even wince or show any other sign of discomfort as BB’s fingers trace the katana gash on his side.

When BB sinks his teeth into L’s lower lip, making the detective lose a moan of pain and pleasure, BB holds L’s body tight and pushes off the armchair. L wraps his legs around BB and the younger man sinks them both onto the floor, making sure not to get too close to the ornate fire screen that stands in front of the hearth.

Still kissing the young detective that is now pinned under him, BB runs his hands over L’s chest, scratching his skin softly and then harder when L responds with moans of pleasure. BB grinds into L and they both feel the hardness in their pants. Thrusting for more friction BB hears L’s breath hitching in surprise. 

BB breaks the kiss to nibble down L’s chin and neck. He can feel the detective’s Adam’s apple bobbing against his cheek as L swallows hard. 

L holds his successor’s head tight when he feels his teeth scrape at his shoulder. BB had pulled the shirt down to get to it and was just thinking that he should remove it from L when he hears the detective say, “Bite,…”

BB doesn’t need telling twice and he sinks his teeth into L’s soft pale skin.

“Harder,…” L whispers, digging his nails into BB’s scalp.

BB clenches his jaw tighter and hears L moan in pleasure. He squints up and sees the detective pushing his head back against the floor, his chin raised, eyes closed tightly, breathing hard and a sudden understanding dawns on him. He decides to test his theory and with his right hand he scratches L’s left nipple hard and gives it a hard twist and pull. The pain from both the bite and the sudden torture to the sensitive skin of his nipple, make L gasp in a loud moan as a shiver runs up his body.

BB pushes himself up a little to grab L’s wrists and he pushes down the detective’s arms over his head against the floor, leaning into them hard as he thrusts his hips forward to keep L locked tightly underneath.

Smirking down at the disheveled detective, BB says, “So,… you’re a bit of a masochist, aren’t you?”

L doesn’t answer, he just looks up, eyes unblinking and shiny with want. BB looks at the red markings his teeth had left on the detective’s porcelain white skin and a wicked grin spreads over his face.

“That’s good,…” BB whispers and licks his lips, “because I happen to be a bit of a sadist.” And he plunges down to bite L’s lower lip hard, making him cry out in surprise.

BB feels blood rushing to his brain and his groin as a wild need takes hold over his senses. With a quick tug and pull he has L’s shirt off and he attacks the detective’s torso with bites and scratches, his animalistic groans a deeper echo to L’s moans of pain.

L’s body squirms, but his legs grab tighter around BB, wanting more, needing more.

BB grabs a handful of L’s hair and bangs his head against the floor.

“Don’t be so fucking eager,” he whispers into L’s ear.

L swallows down a whimper and lies very still.

BB is very much aware that L is playing him to get what he wants and he doesn’t care.

“Don’t move,“ BB says.

He pushes L’s legs away to sit back on his haunches so he can take a good long look at the body lying in front of him.

L has his arms at his side, his nails digging into the rug and he is looking up at BB with wide staring eyes, trying to calm his breathing. There are bite marks and scratches over L’s torso, but none as red as the bite BB had left on the shoulder. The firelight’s flames draw shadows through the grated metal fire screen and the shape of its whirly loops draws patterns on L’s pale skin. BB traces them with his index finger, running up and down, playing with the shadows and the light.

“You are paler than Aiden,” he says wistfully, “and you have no freckles, not even a single birthmark.”

He traces the line of the katana scar that winds around L’s side.

“Just this,” he whispers.

BB’s fingers slowly crawl upwards, over L’s shoulder, his other hand joining the former to wrap around the detective’s neck. 

L doesn’t say a word, but he does lean his head back more, exposing his vulnerable throat to his successor.

BB sets a thumb against L’s Adam’s apple and strokes it as his hands grip tighter, but not enough to cut L’s air supply, just enough for it to feel uncomfortable. 

L looks at him through half-closed eyes, his cheeks flushed, waiting to see what his successor will do. 

All emotion fades from BB’s face as he concentrates on the throb of L’s pulse under his hands and the way his chest raises and falls with every breath. He sees tiny droplets of sweat twinkle under the fire’s light.

“You are beautiful,” BB whispers, “lean and almost fragile,… like he was.”

His hands squeeze a little tighter.

“He was in love with you, you know?”

BB sinks his chin to his chest.

“I wasn’t enough.”

He closes his eyes and squeezes tighter.

“He died,…” BB opens his eyes and leans into L’s face, pure hatred emanating from him, “…for you.”

Tears flood his vision.

“Do it,” L manages to push through clenched teeth, barely able to breathe.

BB strengthens his hold and presses his hands harder around L’s throat, his fingers pushing into the detective’s skin. He feels his erection throbbing within the constriction of his jeans and he rubs against L’s own hardness.

He wonders why L doesn’t fight back. The detective still has his hands at his side, his nails digging into the hearth rug. His cheeks are flushing a deep red and BB knows he can’t breathe, but L is unmoving, lying there, taking it.

BB gives L a thrust from his hips and feels the detective’s body convulse in response.

BB loosens his hold on L’s neck and the detective takes in a rattled breath, coughing. He can see a red imprint around L’s throat where his hands had tried to squeeze the life out of him.

As L closes his eyes and tries to fill his lungs with gasps of air, BB unbuttons the detective’s jeans and pulls them, and his underwear off, exposing L’s very aroused member. And it is that, more than anything that makes BB furious, makes his blood boil and fills him with absolute hatred.

He flips the detective’s unresisting body and unzips his own pants, pulling down the jeans far enough to release his own erection. 

Positioning himself behind L, he lowers his body and spreads the detective’s cheeks to penetrate him without any preparation or warning.

“You like pain, don’t you?”

BB thrusts hard, making L cry out in pain, his shoulders tightening as he tries to push himself up, but BB grabs his hair and putting pressure on his head, keeps him down.

Leaning into L’s ear, BB says, “Tell me, you son of a bitch, do you like pain?”

L nods, unable to speak due to his sore throat, but he croaks out something that sounds affirmative.

“God, you disgust me,” BB says as he plunges deeper into L, putting his whole weight onto L’s body to keep him down.

BB’s hate mingles with a sense of power that makes him feel high with lust. He is fucking the great detective, the unshakable, almost god-like figure everyone in the orphanage aspires to. No one under this roof has ever seen their mighty idol completely devoid of his mental capacities, nothing but a drooling, moaning mess of sweat and need.

He feels L’s body trying to get some friction against the rug to give his hard-on some sense of relieve and BB laughs. He silences his laughter by biting hard into L’s shoulder and pulling his hair back, raising his head from the floor. 

L is breathing hard, his mouth wide open, his eyes closed shut, sweat and tears running down his face and his whole body convulses with a jerk when he releases onto the rug. L’s moans and whimpers of pleasure drive BB over the edge and the high of the power-rush mixes with the blinding flashes of lust’s pleasure as he comes hard and deep with loud groans to then collapse, exhausted and drained on top of L.

They are both breathing hard, coming down from the sex-high, their bodies gleaming from sweat under the fire’s glow. BB can feel L shiver underneath him and he holds him close. Only a few moments later, L’s breathing has evened out and BB knows that the detective has fallen asleep by the way his body relaxes.

I hate him, BB thinks.

He strokes L’s feathery hair.


	29. Day Three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-sexual discourse over coffee and tea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again,... I am no expert on dissociative identity disorder. I am making this shit up as I go along. No disrespect is meant towards anyone who has to live with DID or any other mental/emotional issues.  
> This goes for this whole fic, btw.

Everything hurts. L groans and huddles under the blanket, hiding from the harsh sunlight. Something woke him. What was it? 

A loud rumbling sound that slowly dissipates into the distance. 

Trucks? 

What?

Someone prods him in the side.

“Hey, you awake?”

L covers his head with the blanket.

“Come on, get up, I made you tea.”

With another groan, this time of annoyance, L peeks from under the blanket and blinks to acclimate his eyes to the bright light that floods the orphanage’s common room. 

“What time is it?” He mumbles.

“The grandfather clock struck ten about five minutes ago. Didn’t you hear it?”

L sits up, the blanket falling from him, exposing his torso, covered in scratches and bite marks. He shivers with cold. Something hits his face and lands in his lap. Blinking at it, he sees that it is the long-sleeved shirt he was wearing yesterday.

He pulls it over his head, wincing when he feels a pain stinging up his spine from,… down there.

Oh.

Wammy is going to kill him.

He looks around for his pants and blinks at BB who is sitting in the same armchair he used last night, sipping at a cup of coffee. BB points down and L sees his pants lying on the floor. He reaches forward to grab them and a sharp pain makes him wince.

“Uhm,…” L says, “could you please throw those my way too?”

Rolling his eyes, BB leans down, picks up the jeans and tosses them towards L who looks at them mournfully. 

“Yes, well,… I think I’ll just sit here for a bit.” He says and pulls the pants onto his lap, but remains on the floor, the blanket covering his lower half. “You said something about tea?”

BB nods and says, “The snowplows woke me up earlier and I needed coffee. Figured I might as well,…”

He nods towards L’s left and when the detective turns his head he sees a tea mug sitting within reach on the floor, next to a bowl of sugar. He takes the mug and starts adding spoon after spoon of the white sweetener.

He had completely forgotten about the snowplows. Roger had hired a contractor to do some of the more complicated garden work that came with running a mansion and grounds like these. Whenever there was a bigger snowfall, they would send two snowplows to clear the orphanage’s roads. That must have been the rumbling noise that woke him. But odd that the chiming of the tall grandfather clock hadn’t stirred him at all. In fact, he can’t remember the last time he had slept so long and deep.

As he sips carefully from the tea, he watches his successor over the rim of the cup. BB had opened his braid, his long hair framing his face and he was wearing the same clothes as last night. So he must have gotten the blanket yesterday, right after they,… 

Yeah.

And he had probably slept down here too, with him, on the floor.

Interesting.

BB notices L’s scrutinizing gaze and asks, “What?”

“Thank you for the tea, BB.” L raises his cup in a saluting gesture and sips at his tea.

A very awkward silence settles between them.

“So,…” 

“So,…”

“About last night,…”

“Wanna talk about it?”

“Not really. Do you?”

“No.”

“Ok, good.

“Good.”

More sipping of beverages on both sides.

“Wanna do it again?”

L chokes on his tea. BB jumps up from the armchair and sits next to the detective to pat him on the back. After some sputtering and a deep breath, L asks, “Now?”

BB grins at him and says, “I don’t think so, I think I broke you. You might need a few hours to recover.”

“I’m not broken,” L says stubbornly, “you didn’t break me.”

BB puts his hand on L’s shoulder, and squeezes, making him wince in pain. L hunches his shoulders and glares at his successor.

“You bit too hard.” He says, glaring at BB with a flash of anger.

BB shrugs and sits back, still holding his coffee with his other hand.

“You asked me to.” BB says, leaning against the armchair that L had occupied the previous night. “You liked it, if I remember correctly. I really didn’t take you for the masochistic type, but that explains the self-inflicted lashes on your back. Do you do that to yourself when you jerk off?”

L sets down the tea cup on the floor because he’s afraid he might throw it into his successor’s face.

“You said you didn’t want to talk about it.” L says and turns his angry glare back at BB, his bangs falling over his grey eyes.

“Changed my mind,” BB says, grinning wider, “it happens. Just like I changed my mind last night and decided not to strangle you to death, but to fuck you instead.”

He is trying to piss me off, he wants me to blow up at him, L realizes.

Why?

Well, two can play that game.

“Why did you want to strangle me, BB?” L asks, his face revealing no emotion. “Is it jealousy? You did say that Aiden was in love with me. Is that it?”

BB sets his coffee cup on the floor next to him and leans forward threateningly. 

“Shut the fuck up, L.” He says through gritted teeth. “You don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Well then, enlighten me.” L says smugly.

BB reaches forward and gently touches the red mark his hands had left on L’s throat. There were crescent shaped indentations were his nails had dug into the skin. L doesn’t flinch, he just observes and waits.

“A few weeks after Wammy introduced his plans during that assembly four years ago and made you the official heir to the estate and legacy of his detective work, A and I decided to apply to the successor program.”

L knows all this already, but he decides to remain silent and to let BB sink into his memories…

*** *** ***

“Bee,” Aster says as he walks into the room, he is holding two envelopes in his hand and his face is flushed with nervousness. “This was pinned to our board.”

“You think that’s it?” Bane says and he gets up from his desk to take one of the envelopes from Aster, who can only nod.

They had gone through a whole month of testing with fifteen other students of all ages who had volunteered to partake in the rigorous exams, both mental and physical, that would end up with one of them being the chosen successor to L, their superior and lead detective of Mr. Wammy’s international web of investigators. In the last week it had come down to the two of them and three others. The competition was fierce and Aster had been a nervous wreck, afraid of disappointing Bane, his boyfriend and room-mate and of being left behind. 

They had only started dating a few months ago and their relationship had been off to a bumpy start, with Aster having to digest the information about Bane’s eyes and what they could do, as well as dealing with Bee’s break from Dan, the pervert, as Aster called him.

He wasn’t too thrilled with the pressure and the stress of passing the successor testing, but he did it because he knew that Bane really wanted it and that he wanted them both to do it together. There were moments were Aster had felt his sister screaming from inside the mental prison he had locked her in, asking to be let out, to let Aiden take a break from reality and to let his dear, sweet twin sister take over and run things for a while. But Aiden hadn’t needed her for years. It had taken so much work and patience for him to put that behind him and Bane,… Byakusei, had been such a big part of threading his sanity around the real world, that he just couldn’t fall back into the safety-net that her presence offered.

He had hidden the urge and his alter’s nagging from Bee and from the psychologist and he was relieved that it was finally over, the exams were done. He could relax.

That is,… if neither of them passed, because if one of them did, it would mean more training, harder lessons, extra tutoring, special coaching and the pressure to become the best. He wasn’t sure he could deal with that. He would be happy for Bane if he passed, but he was afraid it might cause a rift between them, seeing as how so many more hours would have to be spent in the successor program, leaving little time for them to see each other.

Aster looks at the envelope in his hand and he hopes with every cell in his body, that the letter within starts with a ' _we regret to inform you_ ', but when he sits on Bane’s bed and they open their envelopes together, his heart falls when he sees the words written on the orphanage’s stationary:

>> _Please present yourself at Mr. Wammy’s office, the Cabin, at 5pm, for further instructions._ <<

“What do you think this means?” Bane asks and holds out his note for Aster to read. The same sentence is printed on there too.

“I don’t know,” Aster answers and he rests his hand over Bane’s, giving it a reassuring squeeze, but Bane jumps up and starts pacing in his room, the letter in his hand rustling like autumn leaves disrupted by a gust of wind, the sound an echo of Aster’s fluttering heart.

He wishes Bee would stop pacing like that, it is making him nervous.

“Stop it! Stop it! Stop it!” The voice of Ailis, the shrill scream of a five-year-old girl, threatening to shatter his skull.

He jumps up just as Bane makes another turn, mumbling to himself, an odd habit of his when he is trying to figure things out. Aster bumps into him and throws his arms around the taller boy and rushes in for a kiss. The collision clatters their teeth together and Bane pushes Aster back by the shoulders almost making Aster fall to the floor.

“What are you doing?” Bane says, angry at being cut off from his train of thought.

Aster stands rooted to the spot, eyes wide open in shock, Bee had never treated him roughly, had never raised a hand against him, but for a split second it looked like he was about to smack him across the face.

“I… I’m sorry,” Aster mumbles and turns to run out of the room, but Bane grabs his arm and holds him back.

“No,… you did nothing wrong A,” Bane says, “I’m the one who’s sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you like that. You just surprised me, is all.”

He is at Aster’s side with one long stride and pulls him in close, stroking his head. Aster hangs onto him tightly and rubs his face into Bane’s shirt, he hears Bee sigh in relief.

“I’m alright,” Aster says and looks up at Bane, ”you can stop treating me like I’m some kind of fragile porcelain doll that will break at the smallest pressure.”

Bane takes Aster’s face between his hands, running his thumbs over the younger teen’s eyebrows.

“As much as I like the thought of you being a doll for me,” Bane grins wickedly, making Aster smile, laughter shining in his eyes, “I don’t mean to treat you like you are one, like you are made of glass.”

He kisses Aster on the tip of his nose and smiles at him.

“You have been doing so great for the last few years. The progress you have made really is amazing. We don’t talk about it much and you have never given me the details, but I know that part of you is still stuck in that car, still hangs on to survivor’s guilt.”

Aster closes his eyes, he can’t look at Bane, at the honest worry and love that radiates from him. He doesn’t deserve it.

“Hey,…” Bane kisses his cheeks softly, one after the other, “I know she has been pushing at you.”

Aster opens his eyes, wide with shock. “How…?” He says, grabbing onto Bane’s shirt tightly.

“I know you, you know?” Bane smiles and winks at him. “It’s alright A,… it’s alright.”

Closing his eyes, Bane kisses Aster gently on the lips, pulling him closer to wrap his arms around him.

When he breaks the kiss, Aster smiles and whispers, “I love you.”

“I know.” Bane answer with that wicked grin of his.

“Ok, Han Solo,” Aster pulls Bane towards the bed. “I know you’ll never fucking say it, so show me.”

Bane raises his eyebrows. “Show you what?”

“That you love me, you idiot!” Aster says and pushes Bane onto the bed, falling on top of him. “But no more lovey-dovey crap. I know you have been holding back. I can take it.”

“Is that so?” Bane says and grabbing Aster turns and flips him so that he has his boyfriend pinned underneath him, making the bed creak.

Aster laughs, his green eyes sparkling. 

“You’ll break the bed, you brute!” He says.

“Is that a challenge?” Bane growls and attacks Aster’s neck with nibbles and kisses.

“Roger with have a fit.” Aster says between giggles.

Bane looks up at him, his shoulder long hair a fuzzy mess and his gaze with that penetrating glare that always makes Aster shiver with anticipation.

“Fuck Roger,” he says.

“God no,…” Aster answers, looking at his gorgeous boyfriend from half closed eyes, “fuck me.”

And Bane does.

They don’t break the bed, but Aster sees a whole new side of him, a hungrier, more animalistic side and he doesn’t know if it scares or excites him.


	30. 5 o’clock Tea

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aster and Bane go to the Cabin as requested. Many things are revealed and the plot thickens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I write the Cabin with a capital "C" because it is the name given to the house where Wammy and Roger live.
> 
> Name discrepancies... monikers, aliases and real names are used for the characters depending on who they are with and what names those people use for each other. 
> 
> Longer chapter. I thought of splitting this into two chapters, but it would kill the flow methinks.
> 
> If anything is unclear with the timeline and/or the names or anything else, please don't hesitate to ask.

They are sitting not in Wammy’s office, but sharing a couch in the Cabin’s sitting-room. Roger had led them there and had disappeared to make some tea. In their nervousness, they had been too early for the meeting. There had been no time to get cleaned up much and when Bane leans into Aster, he can smell sex on him. He hopes that no one else will notice.

He looks around the room. It is comfortable here. The furniture looks old, but seems well taken care of and there is a fire happily sparkling away in a fireplace to their left. It was late February and there was no sign that spring was going to start anytime soon. The walk to the Cabin had felt longer than normal as they held onto each other, trying not to slip and fall on the frozen ground.

There are some photographs on the mantelpiece and Bane would have loved to take a closer look, but Aster had gripped his hand and was chewing his lower lip nervously, so he decided to stay put and offer silent support to his boyfriend.

The door opens and Aster hastily removes his hand from Bane’s.

They both look up expecting to see Roger walking in, but are surprised to see L’s lanky figure make his way to the armchair closest to the fire. He steps on it, hands in his pockets and makes an awkward turn, sinking down at the same time, to sit with his knees pulled up to his chest.

“Hello,” he says in a deep voice and just stares at them, his eyes flicking back and forth between them.

Bane nods at him and except for a tightening of his shoulders, Aster doesn’t react at all.

There is something about the way L’s gaze seems to strip you of all your walls and is able to see right through you. It is making Bane very uncomfortable and he wishes that Roger would show up already.

“Ah, you are all here.”

The three young men turn towards the door to see Mr. Wammy standing there, smiling at them. He steps into the room followed by Mr. Ruvie, who is pushing a little serving cart. As Wammy sits in the other armchair opposite the couch were Aster and Bane are sitting, Roger sets down cups, tea and a plate of assorted cookies on the coffee-table between them. He then leaves the room, closing the door behind himself quietly.

“Please, serve yourselves,” Wammy says and waves at the table.

No one moves. 

L grunts impatiently and Wammy gives him an imploring look, silently asking him for patience.

L drops a foot on the floor and leans forward to grab some cookies. He then leans back into the armchair and starts munching away at the biscuits in the most inept and complicated way that Bane has ever seen.

Wammy clears his throat and starts serving tea for everyone, when he realizes that the two teenagers on the couch are either too nervous or too awed to do so themselves. He is about to pour some into Bane’s cup, when the young man says, “No thanks, I don’t like tea.”

Aster grabs his cup and gulps down the tea, burning his tongue and wincing. He sets the cup back onto its saucer with a loud clatter.

Bane looks at him and wonders why he is so nervous, unaware that Aster has more than one reason to fear that the people he is sitting with might realize that one, him and his room-mate are hiding the fact that they are together and had actually just had the craziest sex in Bane’s room and two, that said room-mate might take a closer look at those frigging photographs and realize that his boyfriend looks so much like Wammy’s late wife that it can’t be just a coincidence.

Sensing his grandson’s anxiety Wammy decides to get to the point.

“Well, I am sure that the three of you are wondering why I asked you to come,” he says and passes a friendly smile to all of them, hoping to set them at ease. “You see, we have a bit of a problem, something I didn’t anticipate.”

Three pairs of eyes lock on him.

“It turns out that the two of you have finished the final exams with the highest scores.”

Wammy passes them each a portfolio from a folder he had been holding. Their monikers are printed on the front. Aster and Bane open them up and compare their points, while L just sits there, happily chomping away at more cookies he had taken from the plate, leaving crumbs everywhere.

Bane sees that he has beaten Aster in swimming and logical conclusions, but Aster has higher grades in language and intuition. Their IQs are at the same level, even if the individual points are spread on different qualities.

“What does this mean?” He asks.

“It means,” L says from his corner, his voice almost dripping with contempt, “that you both will be in the successor program.”

Wammy raises his hand quietly asking L to let him take care of it. The detective shrugs and starts licking crumbs and sugar from his fingers.

Bane is furious. How can this,… clown, be the leading figure, the chosen one, of Wammy’s big plan? Guy looks and acts like some kind of demented idiot.

“If you both agree, you will be starting special training next week,” Wammy says and Bane turns his attention back to the old principal, “I need to know now, because I’ll have to move things around to accommodate two trainees instead of one into the planned schedule. I am sorry that this is so sudden.”

Is it Bane’s imagination, or did both L and the old man just give Aster a look? Does that mean that L knows? He supposes that Wammy must have given the detective information on all of the runner-ups to the program, but he didn’t think that he would disclose his room-mate’s emotional and mental strain too, although he supposes that it makes sense for L to know.

Bane nods. “I’m in.” He looks at Aster and asks, “What about you?”

Aster avoids looking at him and fixes his eyes on Wammy.

“Can I talk to L first,” he asks, “in private?”

The old man nods and L gets up from his armchair to leave the room.

“What?” Bane asks, reaching his hand towards Aster, but his grab misses his boyfriend’s hand as he follows the detective outside.

“Use my office, L.” Wammy calls after them.

He gets up and sits next to Bane on the couch, in the place vacated by Aster. 

Bane is confused. What could those two possibly have to talk about? As far as he knew, they had never even officially met before.

“What just happened?” He asks Wammy.

“I think that Aster wants to clear a few things with L first,” Wammy says.

“Is this about his DID?” Bane asks and starts to get up. He wants to follow A, wants to make sure that he is OK, wants to protect him, like he has always done, but the principal holds him back and pats his arm reassuringly.

“Don’t worry Bane,” the old man says, “he will be alright.”

*** *** ***

“What did the two of you talk about?” BB asks, squeezing L’s throat. “What else was he hiding from me?”

L grabs BB’s wrist and tries to pull his hands off.

“Were the two of you fucking behind my back?”

L shakes his head, scratching his successor’s wrists as he tries to get him to release his hold on his wind-pipe. BB gives L’s throat one last tight squeeze and then lets go. L wheezes air into his lungs, coughing, blinking tears away and then he punches BB on the chin, making the younger man fall back against the armchair at his back.

“Don’t…” L gasps, holding his hand to his throat, “… do that… again.”

BB sees red. He wants to tear the detective’s fucking throat open and see his blood gushing all over the fucking floor, staining that fucking white shirt of his and watch him die, right here, right now. He clenches his hands, his nails digging into his palms, as he tries to control his temper. He needs answers. Killing the son of a bitch won’t help at all.

“Tell me L,” BB grunts with effort as it takes all his will to hold himself back. “Did you fuck?”

“What?” L says, but then is overwhelmed by a coughing fit and he grabs the tea, swallowing it all down eagerly to soothe his hurting throat.

“I will fucking kill you, I swear.”

L sets the empty cup back on the floor.

“You can try,” L says and he hunches down, ready to pounce if BB makes any move, “but bigger, stronger men than you have tried and I am still here. Or you can calm the fuck down and listen.”

BB throws his head back, a grunt of pain escaping him as he rubs his hands over his face.

“Fuck!”

“I am going to put my pants on and you will just sit there and wait and then we’ll talk. OK?” L watches BB carefully for any sign of aggression. 

“Fine,” BB says, pulling his hands away from his face.

L grabs his jeans, never taking his eyes off from his successor as he untangles his underwear from the pants and puts them both on. He is still sore, but he manages to get dressed without flinching too much. He then carefully sits back down, this time on top of the blanket and not in his usual posture, but cross legged.

“First,” L says, “why on earth would you assume that Aiden and I were… fucking?”

“God, I don’t know!” BB says, frustrated. “I know he loved you and the two of you would sometimes have your private talks. He never told me what they were about and what the fuck the two of you were doing. What else am I supposed to think?”

L sighs and scratches at his chest through the shirt he is wearing. BB’s treatment of his skin had left scabs on him and it was itchy as hell. He wanted a bath so bad, but he knew he had to deal with this first.

“OK, let me clear this up for you,” L says, “Aiden loved me, I know that. I have always known that because I loved him back.”

BB grunts and leans forward to grab L, but the detective puts up his hands and hurriedly says, “But not IN love. There is a huge difference.”

BB sits back down and says, “Explain.”

“We spent a lot of time together as kids…”

*** *** ***

Aiden closes the door of Wammy’s office when he follows L inside. He turns towards the detective and when L opens his arms, Aiden runs to him and they hug.

“How have you been kid?” L asks, awkwardly patting Aiden’s hair.

“Fine,…” Aiden answers and he rubs his face into L’s chest to wipe away a few tears.

L pulls him back and leans down to look him in the eyes. “OK, now the truth.” He says.

“I feel her,” Aiden says looking into L’s eyes, sinking into the grey depths that have always offered such comfort to his younger self. “She’s been nagging and screaming and I don’t know how much longer I can resist her.”

“Have you talked to Dr. Pearce about it?”

Aiden shakes his head.

“To Wammy?”

Another shake of the head.

“What about that… room-mate of yours?”

Aiden blushes and shakes his head a third time.

“Ah, I see,” L says, “Well, that explains a lot.”

“What?” Aiden asks and steps back to look at L with the flush deepening over his face.

“You smell of sex Aiden,” L says, puts his hands in his pockets and sits on the edge of Wammy’s desk.

“Please don’t tell grandpa!” Aiden begs. “He wouldn’t understand. He’ll tear me away from him and I… I…”

“You love him,” L finishes the sentence for him.

Aiden smiles and nods.

“Does he love you back?” L asks.

“I… I think so.”

“Good. I am happy for you.”

They both smile at each other.

“So,…” L asks, “are you in control or should we talk to the doc?”

“No, I’m good, “ Aiden answers, “I remember all the techniques that Dr. Pearce showed us and they really help me to stay afloat. I have her checked and locked up and she won’t be coming out anymore. I really don’t want to go back on medication. It makes me feel weird, like I am not really myself. You know?”

L nods. He knows.

He had met Aiden during therapy when he was nine. Aiden had been only five years old at the time. Instead of holding their sessions in his office, Dr. Pearce saw them here, in the Cabin. They would have individual therapy first and then he’d see them together. Pearce was convinced that the two traumatized boys could help each other, lean on each other for support as they took the difficult road to healing their broken souls.

They would mostly play board games or read together. L had taught Aiden how to play chess and they could spend days at the same game. They would always have lunch with Wammy and many times, they would fall asleep on the couch, holding each other.

L had eventually met Ailis too. He understood what her appearance meant and treated her with the same courtesy and friendliness that he bestowed on his young friend. She never got the hang of chess, but they would draw together and cuddle on the couch too.

There were things the two boys shared with each other that they would never dream of telling anyone else, which is how L knew that the accident that killed the Ahearn family had been Aiden’s fault and how Aiden knew that L had almost killed his one and only friend to get away from a monster.

Part of L always resented Aiden for his relationship to Wammy. For a whole year the old man had only been his, a loving father figure and mentor. But now he had to share his affection with the man’s grandson and L didn’t know if he could compete with blood and jealousy often reared its ugly head and constricted his heart. But he couldn’t help loving Aiden regardless. He was the little brother he never had and he didn’t know what he would do if Aiden ever got hurt.

After Dr. Pearce had declared L sane and healed from his trauma at the age of twelve, they had lost touch. L had put all his efforts into his grades to please Wammy and had only seen Aiden on the grounds occasionally. He had been happy to see that Aiden had found a friend and once a year, for Wammy’s birthday, they would both come to the Cabin and exchange news, talk, play chess and part with a tight hug.

The successor program was about to change all that.

“Do you think you can handle the program?” L asks his young friend.

Aiden nods. “Yes,” he says, “for Bane, I can. He really wants this and I want to make him happy. But I wanted to ask you to please not treat me any different, now that I am your official successor. I don’t want any special treatment, especially not from grandpa. I would really prefer it if my relation to him was kept secret, as well as,” he waves between L and himself, “this friendship of ours.”

“OK Aiden,“ L nods and smiles, “I promise.”

“When are you leaving?” Aiden asks.

L’ smile turns into a thin line as he answers, “Tomorrow.”

“I can’t change your mind?” Aiden steps towards L and pokes him in the arm.

“No,” L says grimly, “Wammy couldn’t change my mind and neither can you.”

Aiden sits next to L, leaning on the desk.

“I had to ask,” he says and bumps sideways at the detective.

“Yeah… I know.”

With a sigh, Aiden pushes himself off the desk. “Well, I guess I better go back. I bet Bane is freaking out.”

He turns suddenly, grabs L’s face and kisses him deeply. He is surprised when L actually reciprocates and pulls him close.

Aiden pulls away and breaks the kiss and smiles at L. “I’ve always wanted to do that.” He says.

“Yeah, me too.” L whispers.

“It was weird, wasn’t it?” Aiden asks and they both start laughing.

“Yeah, let’s not do that again. OK?” L says, cocking his head to the side and blinking at Aiden.

“OK big brother!” Aiden says winking.

“Ha!” L chuckles and pushes Aiden towards the door. “Get outta here, go kiss your boyfriend instead.”

Aiden opens the door and before he steps out, without turning around, he says, “Some people aren’t worth saving, L. Be careful and make sure you come back to me.”

L stares at the door for a long time after Aiden leaves, running his right index finger over his lips.


End file.
